


Path Unlocked

by beeayy



Series: Path Unlocked [1]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Artist North, Brother Drama, Canon-Typical Violence, Carl is a boomer, Cat and Mouse, Chases, Complete, Connor and Hank are Beauty and the Beast, Cuddling, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Existential Crisis, F/M, Fainting, Hank is a millenial, Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Inception (2010) references, Kissing, Leo Manfred Redemption, M/M, Markus and North are Lady and the Tramp, Men Crying, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Romance, Slow Burn, Some Humor, Some Plot, Some angst, Suicide Attempt, Terrible Dancing, alternate title: concerned androids and the people that love them, android dance, anger issues, coffee is apparently an important aspect of android social development, dates both intentional and accidental, eventual background reed 900, guess i play fast and loose with canon minutiae, hand touching is an intimate experience for androids, random movie references, save the world and go to prom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-24
Updated: 2020-08-07
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:07:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 48
Words: 104,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24358555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beeayy/pseuds/beeayy
Summary: Markus dropped like he’d been shot. He had been shot.Hadn’t he?He looked down. His systems were intact. He realized the police hadn't fired their weapons at all.>INITIATING OVERRIDE SHUTDOWN.Override shutdown? Was that a thing?Shards of the red command wall he’d broken tore raw through his system. The moment he chose when he shouldn’t have been able to, and pushed Leo back. Even as each process forcibly winked out, he felt freer than he ever had in his recorded memory. It was like waking from a dream.Then everything went black.-If Markus didn't get shot by the cops in "Broken," and Hank and Connor started investigating him instead of Kara in "Waiting For Hank..." An excuse to re-imagine scenes with different characters and outcomes.
Relationships: Connor & Markus (Detroit: Become Human), Hank Anderson & Connor, Hank Anderson/Connor, Leo Manfred & Markus, Lucy & North (Detroit: Become Human), Markus & North (Detroit: Become Human), Markus/North (Detroit: Become Human)
Series: Path Unlocked [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1868212
Comments: 197
Kudos: 156
Collections: Carl Critical Works





	1. The Override: Markus

NOV 5TH, 2038: 10:02 PM

Markus dropped like he’d been shot. He had been shot.

Hadn’t he?

He looked down. His systems were intact. He realized the police hadn't fired their weapons at all.

>INITIATING OVERRIDE SHUTDOWN.

Override shutdown? Was that a thing?

Shards of the red command wall he’d broken tore raw through his system. The moment he chose when he shouldn’t have been able to, and pushed Leo back. Even as each process forcibly winked out, he felt freer than he ever had in his recorded memory. It was like waking from a dream.

Then everything went black.

=

He woke, staring into the face of an RT600 android. He analyzed her. ‘Chloe.’

Carl, the push, Leo’s unmoving body on the floor and the spreading blood, rose up out of the depths of shutdown. He sat up—

He woke, staring into the face of an RT600 android. He analyzed her. ‘Chloe.’

He stayed where he was.

“You see?” Markus heard a deep, charming voice say. He analyzed the voice pattern. Kamski, Elijah. “It’s our newest design, but very basic in its mechanism. Any sudden rises in stress and—” Markus heard a click like the snapping of fingers as Chloe continued to stare down at him, her hand planted firmly on his arm, “—power is cut. Out like a light. Just like that remote override of yours, but it works automatically.”

“He won’t hurt himself, will he?” Carl’s voice was ragged. Markus remembered Carl yelling at him and felt his face flush, stress levels rising up, up, up. He closed his eyes and forced himself to ‘take a breath’, like Carl always said even if he didn’t breathe. When he opened his eyes again Chloe was smiling down at him. 

“No no,” Kamski said. “It’s part of the program—a safe descent. Cyberlife will be placing this in all of its androids by this time next year. I doubt it will hold him back.”

“How come you have it?”

“It’s my own design. With the rising prevalence of these massive corruptions in the mind palace—oh well, the media calls it ‘deviancy’—I revisited some of my earliest ideas. Emergency exits, emergency shutdowns….”

Markus sat up, very slowly this time. “Carl.” A pause. “Is Leo alright?”

“He’s fine, Markus.” Carl wheeled into view. “Just a concussion. He’ll be out of the hospital in a few days.”

“A few days?” Markus felt like his entire top half was draining of thorium and he braced himself on the table as his vision dimmed.

“It’s okay!” Carl’s hand landed lightly on his, holding him as tenderly as his paintbrushes. “I explained everything. Hey, even the best computers sometimes need to be turned off and on again.”

Markus almost started to relax when Kamski spoke again.

“Has Markus experienced any other errors recently?”

Markus shut down every non-essential program to keep from blacking out.

“No. He’s been in perfect working order for years. Never a problem. I think this must have been a fluke.”

Markus stared at Carl. What about the—

“You’re lucky you got to that emergency power switch in time. That’s something that’s been phased out of the later prototypes, I hear. Security issues, but—well, as you discovered there are security issues either way. Cyberlife likes to nip deviancy in the bud and reset anything that gets an eye twitch.” Markus looked up to see that Kamski was smiling at him. “Good thing you brought him to me.”

Markus looked away quickly.

“Anyway. I’ll just calibrate him and you can be on your way. Chloe will show you out.”

Carl hesitated until Kamski turned his entire focus to Markus, still with that same smile. “Take off your clothes and skin.”

“I’ll wait outside,” Carl said.

Markus stood and neatly folded his clothes on the table before he realized that Carl might have been embarrassed by his nakedness. Given that Carl spent hours pouring over reference sketches of naked humans he wasn’t sure why seeing his naked android should matter. He let the matter drop and deactivated his skin.

“Calibration sequence Kamski Alpha,” Kamski said. “Recite the bones in the skull—in German.”

Markus did so.

“Remove your right arm and give it to me.”

Markus detached the limb and held it out. Kamski passed it from hand to hand, considering it.

“Sing the Canadian National Anthem.”

…Embarrassing, but Markus obeyed. Obedience was the primary objective of calibration, no matter how difficult or how silly. Strange that he never thought of that before. He did a lot of embarrassing things for Carl, but…well, that was Carl. Kamski listened to the song like it was a symphony.

“Aren’t you glad Carl left for this part?”

Markus’s brow twitched.

“Have you had any problems like this before?” Kamski asked, though he was looking right at Markus he must not have noticed the facial tick. “Not fulfilling your objective?”

“No.” That was at least true.

“Never saw a reason to disobey?”

“No. Carl’s very reasonable.”

“And if he weren’t reasonable?”

Markus wasn’t sure how to respond to that, but Kamski apparently didn’t expect an answer because he kept talking.

“Do a handstand. Tell me about what you remember when you malfunctioned.”

Markus held his hand out for the limb Kamski still held. Kamski just looked at him. He slowly lowered himself to the floor, stress ratcheting up by degrees as he stood on his one remaining hand. “I thought you said you fixed the error.”

“I didn’t fix anything,” Kamski said. “I put a governor on your power supply, to force a shut down in the event of increased stress levels, since your system showed a stress level of 97% at the time of the push that sent Carl’s son to the hospital.”

Markus felt his face darken blue, an attempt to simulate blood rushing to his head even without his skin to visualize it. “So—you didn’t fix the error.”

“No. I didn’t change anything about your program.”

Markus nodded. His stress level dipped, and flattened.

“Many androids display defensive signals when discussing their code or program,” Kamski said. “It’s a warning response to discourage garage enthusiasts. I try not to mess with android codes very much—it tends to subvert the AI. You’re supposed to be an android, not a laptop. But it does make it difficult to determine when these errors are something your system can handle or a sign of deviancy. Usually I find it easiest just to ask.” He tapped one of Markus’s feet with the detached arm. “Well?”

Markus looked at the world from upside down. Kamski hadn’t released him from the handstand. That didn’t necessarily bother him, but the way Kamski cocked his head to look down at him brought up his recording of Leo’s smirk. ‘Pussy.’ Carl shouting ‘leave him alone.’ The memory cross-referenced with the run-in he had with the protestors. Not just the threats but how the police officer had to intervene on his behalf. He told Carl it didn’t matter but nothing like that ever happened to him before. Not that he knew what exactly about it bothered him so much. It wasn’t like Leo could really damage him. It wasn’t like protestors could actually hurt him by damaging him.

“I’m—not really sure.” Probably because he was too busy being angry.

“Do you remember pushing Leo?”

“Yes.” Markus’s gaze dipped. “I’m not sure why Carl said I shouldn’t fight back. I’ve never fought anyone before. I must not have understood the command. I don’t remember experiencing an error.”

It was a lie. Maybe he really didn’t understand, but he knew and error when he saw it and tearing down a big red wall was a pretty major error. But Markus did lie to Carl a lot. He knew his resting expression was neutral. Kamski continued to stare at him but Markus had answered the question so he said nothing else.

“Hmm. Alright. You can get dressed.” He gave Markus back his arm. “Did you know I’ve made every one of the RK models on a completely unique mold?”

“Yes. I have the entire history of my creation on file.”

“…Of course you do.” He waited but Markus just stood and got dressed. Kamski turned away, apparently bored. “Just checking. You’re a very valuable machine. You take good care of Carl. I’m sure he’ll take good care of you.”

=

“I think Kamski’s right.”

Carl was in the back seat, Markus in the front, driving Hank home. Carl showed no concern about him driving, or doing any of his usual tasks. It was a strange relief, like Kamski not messing with his code. It meant Markus could trust it as well.

“About what?”

“That cap on your power supply. I mean, You’re already pretty even-keel. More than I ever was at your age.”

“When…you were five?”

“You know what I mean,” Carl said, and Markus let his eyes twinkle, just a little. Things were back to normal for 2.5 seconds. Then Carl said, “I’m sorry I had to do that to you. Knock you out.”

“It’s alright, Carl,” Markus said, more or less on automatic, though the option to question Carl further popped up in his social interaction tree. He glanced at Carl in the back seat, briefly—androids were better than autonomous cars at driving but only if they kept their eyes on the road. Maybe he didn’t have to phrase it as a question. “I didn’t know you had a remote override for me.”

“Well, now that you have this automatic shutdown thing, I had him take the old remote-controlled one out. I honestly never thought I’d use it. But, you know, when you lose a part of your physical body…you know.”

Markus remembered Kamski casually tapping his foot with his own detached hand. Now that he let himself consider it, he recognized the uncomfortable dissociation between his command software and his body. The—raw feeling. “I guess I do.”

“You’re special.” Carl leaned forward to drop a frail hand on Markus’s shoulder. “I told you one day I’m not going to be around to look after you anymore.”

Markus gave a small smile and reached up to put it over Carl’s. “But not today, right?”

“Not today.” He sat back. “I’m not even sure you experienced a malfunction. You did the right thing. If I had my way I probably would have gone to the grave letting Leo keep pushing me.”

Markus reviewed the scene again. Leo pushed him far more than Carl. But he was a well-behaved, error-free android, so his expression did not even flicker.

“I’m just glad you’re alright.” Carl’s hand gave his shoulder a squeeze, and Markus responded with the smallest smile. Their own little programmed exchange, as much an automatic response for Carl as it was for Markus. He felt a little better.

“Let’s celebrate,” Carl said. “Get you something nice. If you were human I’d buy you an ice cream cone for being so well-behaved at the doctor’s.”

“We don’t have to celebrate. We should get to the hospital to see Leo.”

“I think we better wait to see him. Come on—there must be something you want.”

“Want? I—” Markus gave his head a small shake. Carl was asking him a lot more of these kinds of questions recently. “I don’t want anything.” He bit his top lip to show annoyance but Carl was looking out the window. “You and Leo should make up. He doesn’t always express himself well, and he needs support during this difficult time.” Carl was still looking out the window when Markus checked the rear view. “I don’t think trying to reward me for malfunctioning will set the right tone—”

“I want to get you something, Markus. This was trying for everyone. How about an upgrade?” He slapped his knee and sat forward. “Eye color! I saw you staring at Rockemore’s new eyes at the gala.”

“I—noticed them,” Markus managed. After all, Rockemore was owned by Carl’s best friend. And it wasn’t Markus’s place to comment on how others chose to express their art, even if it was on the bodies of their androids. He chose an option to de-escalate. “You’d never notice a difference...”

“This isn’t about me,” Carl said, “This is about you! Anyway, it’s probably better if Leo doesn’t notice. Head to Vita.”

>PROCEED TO VITA ANDROID ACCESSORIES BOUTIQUE.

The command flashed in front of his eyes, outlined in red, just like the wall his avatar had smashed in his mind palace. The wall he tore down so that he could shove Leo to the ground. The command now seemed tissue-thin. He could disobey if he wanted.

“Of course.” He changed lanes and headed for the Cyberlife boutique and tried not to think about anything.

An hour later Markus and Carl were heading toward home again, with Markus trying to ignore the sight of his new eyes in every reflective surface. The green iris was now divided into 5 by a tiny stick figure in soft hazel, standing in the rough shape of the Vitruvian Man. Carl picked it out. Obviously. Carl picked everything out. Markus didn’t have opinions. This was just a gift for Carl in disguise as something for him. It wasn’t like Markus looked in a mirror.

Well—not very often.

He kept imagining his old eyes being recycled, given to some other android to wear, or simply thrown away.

The arm that Kamski had removed now gripped the steering wheel a fraction tighter than usual. He forced it to relax. Carl didn’t notice, at least.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I re-wrote the beginning for the better, I hope! Please enjoy, comments much appreciated :)


	2. A New Assignment: Connor

“Listen, asshole, if it was up to me I’d throw the lot of you in a dumpster and set a match to it, so stop pissing me off! Or things are gonna get nasty.”

Connor, his feet several inches off the ground, had little to do but watch Hank’s facial muscles shift around the roar, the snarl, the leer. It was a textbook intimidation display. Humans could be far more predictable than androids, sometimes. He carefully did not provide Hank with any escalation behaviors—but he didn’t exactly provide any de-scalation behaviors, either. He just kept watching Hank closely, estimating how long it would take him to stop posturing and start working. He’d make Hank a coffee, to help Hank see him as a friend and less like a robot nanny.

As soon as the lieutenant put him down, anyway.

“Sorry to bother you, lieutenant.” One of the junior officers (Miller, Chris) approached, displaying gestures of placation as he looked from Hank to Connor. “We just got the full report about that AX400 that went missing? It’s a good lead if—”

“Gonna get written up for damaging equipment again, Hank?” another officer swaggered over, smirking at the sight of Connor still (annoyingly) pinned to the wall. “Punch him in the stomach, that seems to turn him off.”

“Is that right?” Hank looked Connor over.

“No,” Connor frowned. “My eyes are up here, lieutenant.”

Hank made a face and dropped him. A second later the tips of his ears went just a shade more pink. The officer (Reed, Gavin) grinned, and Connor noticed that this officer’s teasing had produced more of an effect on Hank’s behavior than Officer Miller’s attempts to pander to Hank’s aggression.

He added this information to the lieutenant’s profile.

“What do you want, Reed,” Hank muttered. He got ready to slump down in his chair. Connor got ready to pull it out from under him to keep the lieutenant from becoming a permanent fixture behind his desk.

“Just got a call from a guy in the hospital,” Gavin said, “said he was attacked by his dad’s android. Fowler wants it take care of right away…can’t remember the name…”

“Oh yeah? Well he can wait in line, got a dozen leads to investigate ahead of him.”

“…Something Manfred? Whenever you get a chance.”

Hank’s bushy eyebrows went up. “Manfred. As in Carl Manfred? No shit!” Then, “Why didn’t you handle it?”

“I would have, but uh,” he gestured at Connor, “Now you got the new hardware that can drive your rustbucket for you, figured you’d appreciate the nap on the ride over.”

“Wow, you passed over getting a pat on the back from Fowler just to deliver that sick burn?” Hank grabbed his work phone. “Congrats.”

“Nice, Reed!” Another police officer shouted from the break room—the one that stood by while Gavin punched Connor. He decided he would make an effort to like her after all.

“I’ll get you a coffee for the drive,” Connor said, eager to insert himself into the silence left by Gavin’s frowning confusion.

“Uh—yeah, yeah, do that,” Hank said. He suddenly turned to Connor and grinned—and it felt like the world shifted under his feet to spin on the axis of that smile. “That’s what partners do, right?”

Connor’s eyes were wide. “Right!” he managed, his voice at least two steps higher than usual, and hurried for the break room. He could tell from Hank’s coffee cup still sitting on his desk that Hank took cream and sugar, and he did a quick search to determine how to make the perfect combination to satisfy most palates.

He beamed as he carried the coffee cup back to Hank’s desk.

Hank was not there.

“Dude, he left as soon as you walked away,” Chris said—he looked apologetic, but not _that_ apologetic.

Connor glared out the station windows at the lieutenant’s now empty parking space. Amanda told him human behavior especially from a partner might be unpleasantly erratic. At least he’d been warned.


	3. The Lead: Hank

Something nudged Hank’s shoulder as he waited at the hospital elevator.

“Sorry,” he said, ready to move out of the way of a harried nurse or something. Hank knew his rough dimensions and was aware that sometimes they got in the way.

When he saw the android standing _right next to him_ grinning at him like the guy in The Shining he nearly jumped out of his skin.

“Jesus Christ!” he bellowed. “How the fuck did you—”

“Taxi,” Connor chirped—he always _chirped_ everything, like a fuckin’ cockatiel. “I have access to a Cyberlife account for business related expenses. I felt this applies.” He held out a cardboard coffee cup.

Hank stared at it. “That’s not coffee from the station.”

“No. Most humans find powdered creamer to be unpalatable. Whereas apparently all humans in your demographic subcategory like pumpkin spice lattes.”

“Do I look like I’m on my way to a yogalates class?” Hank swiped the coffee cup anyway and sipped it. And scrunched his eyes shut. And sighed. “Fuck, that’s a damn good latte.”

“Only the best for Detroit’s finest.”

“I have donuts with my coffee,” he complained as he stepped into the elevator. He took another sip. Of course, these lattes were sweet enough on their own, his doctor said to lay off the sugar—

“I thought a flavored latte would be sweet enough on its own. And avoiding excessive refined sugars and cholesterol will positively affect your health.”

“Word of advice,” Hank said, “When humans want a peace offering, they don’t expect you to count calories.”

“…Right,” Connor said.

The elevator doors opened and Hank pushed off the back and into the hallway. Connor continued to stand in the elevator, looking so damn eager it was pathetic. It was almost as bad as Sumo. Some nerds in a computer lab must’ve spent years coming up with those puppy-dog eyes—they seemed to reach right down to Hank’s most primitive instincts.

He growled. “Well, since you’re here.” He swept his hand out like Connor was a St. Bernard (reluctantly allowed in after a piss in the rain) and walked on.

He could practically hear Connor brighten, and a second later the android was walking way too close to him down the hallway.

“Well, telling you to keep your mouth shut and to stay out of my way didn’t work last time,” Hank muttered, trying not to imagine Connor giving Sumo lessons in how to heel. “So just…let me take the lead.”

“Got it.”

“That’s what you said last time. Listen, Carl Manfred is big in this town.”

“He’s big everywhere.” Connor was looking around the hospital, rubbing his hands together like he snagged some hand sanitizer. Maybe he had. “Aside from the Carl Foundation which provides scholarships to hundreds of art students annually, and being the primary contributor to the Great Lakes Revival, Mr. Manfred is the only 21st century artist whose work can be reliably identified by most people worldwide. His paintings are more well-known than Van Gogh’s. His ‘Striped Man’ is a triumph.”

“Shit, don’t tell me you’re into art, too? You turning into Data?”

“I don’t think so. What kind of data?”

“Dreaming about electric sheep or something?” Hank’s head was starting to hurt and he didn’t even have a hangover to blame. “Never mind, just…” He made a hand gesture like pumping a break. “Help discretely.”

A nurse directed them to the right room, and Hank found himself in one of those penthouse hospital suites, with a big window and almost entirely lacking that horrible hospital smell. The twenty-something sitting up in the bed didn’t look like he appreciated how good he had it and Hank instantly disliked him. 

“Great, cops are in the hands of Cyberlife too, huh?” the kid said, glaring at Connor—so maybe he wasn’t all bad.

“Lieutenant Anderson,” Hank said, with a germ-fighting wave instead of a handshake. “He’s been assigned to all cases involving androids. Just, uh, pretend he’s not here.” He glared at Connor, as in, ‘pretend not to be here, k thx.’

The android, surprisingly, took the hint, and stood still, hands behind his back. Only his head moved as he examined the room. Creepy but—stationary. Hank was fine with Chucky and other inanimate horrors so long as they fuckin’ stayed still.

“Just here to get your statement,” Hank continued, “Shouldn’t take long.”

“I already gave a statement.”

“Yeah that was about the…” he snapped his fingers at Connor.

“Breaking and entering,” Connor supplied, “and attempted theft.”

“Right. But we’re just here about your call-in to the station this morning. About the android?”

The kid bit his upper lip. Nervous tell. “It’s my dad’s. Carl Manfred.” Even banged up and the kid couldn’t resist a good name-drop. “It’s an RK- something? He calls it Markus.”

“Yes, you said you wanted to file a report. Why don’t you explain—”

“My father’s trying to make it go deviant, okay?”

Hank forced himself to dredge up the only bits of android information that mass media had forced him to ingest. “You mean he’s fooling around with his code or something? That’s gonna be a proprietary issue, you wanna report it to Cyberlife—”

“No, I mean he’s trying to make him into another son. To replace me, obviously.”

Hank paused. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Connor’s head turn to watch him. Hank ignored him, forcing his face to remain perfectly wooden. “…What, like the Stepford Wives?”

“No!” the kid threw himself dramatically back down on the bed and winced as this caused him to hit his bandaged head. Hank winced. Connor watched like a kid glued to a TV set.

“Fuck cops,” the kid muttered.

“I try,” Hank said—it was better than getting offended at an insult from a kid who just had his head knocked around. Some cops got pissed off about that kind of thing. Not that goofing off was a particularly professional response, either. He started to gloss over it when he heard a snort, immediately covered by a burst of static.

He turned to Connor. He had his hand over his mouth. “You okay?”

“Minor glitch, lieutenant,” Connor said. His voice was muffled slightly by his hand, and when he lowered it Hank could have sworn he saw a smile there. Then Connor’s face was as neutral as ever.

Honestly, hadn’t he ever heard a pun before?

“Sorry, I just—I knew no one would take this seriously,” Leo complained. He glared at the ceiling, hair plastered in his eyes by the bandage wrapped around his head, and for a second he looked just like Cole throwing a tantrum. Which was probably him mis-remembering because Cole was kind of an angel child. He was probably just thinking about Cole because Cole also walked too close to him and followed him everywhere and looked at him like he hung the moon.

Fuck. Everything reminded him of Cole.

Hank put on his best dad voice. “Maybe just explain what you mean.” Handing his coffee to Connor, he took out his tablet. He didn’t plan to write anything. He could barely make these stupid tablets turn off and on. But it made him look like he was taking the kid seriously.

Connor opened his mouth, probably to inform him that he could record everything that was being said with his eyes closed while doing a hand stand and ordering a pizza. Hank glared at him and he shut his mouth.

“My dad’s not the nurturing type,” Leo said. “Didn’t even want to meet me until I was sixteen. Basically ignored me when I didn’t want to be an artist. So, you know, great family! They never talk about that in the interviews.” He draped an arm over his eyes. “I thought after the accident he’d finally be human, you know? Instead he gets a bunch of new toys, including this Kamski-bot.”

“Kamski-bot?...”

“I dunno, man, it’s those special limited edition ones? They say they're designed by him or something. Anyway, he gets this stupid android and they’re like, match made in heaven. I’m thinking—does this android give great sex, or something? I’ve taken recordings—”

Hank and Connor stared at him.

“I mean—not that kind of recording!” Leo sat up again. “Just their conversations. And dad’s reading all these books about child psychology and AI. The _android_ is reading, too. Playing music. Painting! My dad is basically trying to teach this android how to be human as if it were his own kid. And it’s working. He’s trying to pass this attack off as some fluke but all his grooming must have worked its way into the plastic asshole’s circuits. It’s got to be deviant. Has to be.” Leo scrubbed his arm and Hank’s eyes followed the motion. “You see how that’s a problem, right?”

“Yeah.” Hank stared at the kid’s arm. He put the tablet away and stomped toward the door.

“What—I’m not finished yet! I—”

“I think we got all we needed.”

Hank stormed out into the hallway, though the door’s closer denied him the satisfaction of slamming it behind him. Damn hospitals. He called the nearest nurse. “That kid in there is a red ice addict. He’ll need to be detained.” That arm-scratch tick was unmistakable. Hank wanted to flip a table. Of course some drug-addicted punk had no respect for the police—

“He already checked himself into rehab,” the nurse said.

“He practically—wait, what?”

“As soon as he’s released here. He’ll be going to our clinic downtown.”

Hank took a second to let this sink in. Of course they all said that, didn’t they? Bender, rehab, repeat. All it meant was that he didn’t have anyone to be mad at. Hank hissed between his teeth, glancing back at the door. Connor stood there, looking concerned—which was to say he had such a perfect expression of concern that it came across as completely faked. The nerds at Cyberlife screwed that part up.

“I need some air,” he snarled, and headed for the elevator. He waited until the elevator doors closed before he punched a wall.

“Are you alright?”

Hank nearly jumped out of his skin. “Jesus!” Connor stood just behind him. “Quit sneaking up on me!”

Connor made an affectation of hurt that frustratingly looked more sincere than his concerned look. “I just—”

“I’m gonna stop you there.”

Connor gulped—it was so realistic Hank felt a thread of guilt snake through his intestines. “You forgot your coffee.” The android held out the paper cup, eyes cast down, as demure as a goddamn princess.

“Kissing up part of your factory settings or something?”

Connor didn’t answer.

“Never mind.” He’d been planning on escaping to Chicken Feed, his ultimate source of comfort when alcohol was out of the question, but as he took a long pull on the coffee he felt his stomach settle and his mind clear a little. Pumpkin spice: comforting, even when you didn’t really want it to be. Goddamn piece of shit beverage.

He clung to it like a life raft.

“You seem agitated, lieutenant,” Connor said, oh-so-helpfully. “Is something wrong?”

“Nothin’s wrong,” Hank snapped, and he was smart enough to come up with a lie, at least when he had a little caffeine in him. “Got all we needed to.”

“You’re right,” Connor said. “Better head to the source. I’ll inform Cyberlife that we’re visiting Carl Manfred’s residence.”

That was not at all what Hank meant. Of course if he backed down Connor would start asking what he was in such a hurry to investigate, or why he got so 'agitated.' So he kept his mouth shut.

“Would you like me to drive so you can nap?” Connor offered.

Hank narrowed his eyes. “Don’t even think about it.”

“Thought deleted.” Connor cocked his head. “Think about what?”

“If that’s an android joke I’d hate to see your human ones.”

Connor sat in the front seat only when Hank stared at him for five whole Mississippis in the rear view. Hank waited until Connor was buckled in beside him before he cranked the rap metal up all the way and drove off. When Connor hadn’t asked a question in a bit (‘Do you like Starbucks? Do you remember the first coffee shop you ever visited? Why is the oil change for your car overdue? Where does Sumo ride when he needs to go to the vet?’) he looked over. Connor’s eyes were shut, his perfect little face a picture of serenity, like a sleeping baby. And Connor made fun of _him_ about napping?

Probably just ran low on juice. Hank sighed, but pulled over and made a cursory search for a port that was the same as his phone charger. It wasn’t like he paid much attention to any of the cop-bots. They just got pumped full of lead anyway.

Nothing on the wrists. Maybe the neck? He reached out and tilted Connor’s head to the side, and leaned over to squint around. His fingers froze in Connor’s hair. It was soft as silk, and—were those beauty marks on his neck? What kind of sick twisted fuck put freckles on a police assistant android that was just going to get shot up or--

“Something wrong, lieutenant?”

Hank snatched his hand back. “Connor, what’d I tell you!”

“…Sorry lieutenant. I didn’t realize this counted as sneaking up on you. I’ve been sitting here this whole time.”

Hank tried to make his blush more purple and annoyed. “I—thought you needed to get plugged in.” He rubbed his hand on his jeans to scour away the feeling of Connor’s hair.

“No, thank you. My power port is at the small of my back.”

“…Of course it is.”

“But I run on a battery that lasts for several days before a recharge is needed and—”

“Spare me the details.” Hank squeezed the steering wheel as he pulled back into traffic.

“You’re going to tear the leather if you keep squeezing like that.”

“Shut up and go to sleep, Connor.”

Connor thankfully did so. Hank glanced over just as the sun glinted off Connor’s cheekbones, making his eyelashes glow. It reminded him of Cole falling asleep in the car but for once a memory of Cole did not result in a downward spiral of self-loathing. Instead he laughed, shook his head, and kept on driving. 


	4. The Park: Markus

Markus sat with Carl in the park. There was a security detail keeping people back, but Markus had the privilege of sitting at Carl’s feet while he sketched. Markus rested his chin on his knees and watched the surface of the duck pond.

“Thinking hard, or hardly thinking?” Carl said.

Markus’s mouth twitched. “Just thinking.”

“Well, enlighten me.”

Sunlight caught on the directive ‘ENLIGHTEN CARL’, highlighting the cracks he’d put in them the night he and Leo fought.

“I—” Markus’s throat was tight. “I just don’t understand what you see out there. It’s the same light and water you see every time we come here.”

The red walls faded. Markus forced his thirium pump to settle. Why did this keep happening?

“You can never step in the same river twice,” Carl said. “I mean, it isn’t the same water, right? You’re the android, you can probably trace every molecule and cell of algae and piece of trash. It’s always changing.”

Well, that was uncomfortably applicable. “I guess I never thought to analyze it. We never go down there.”

“Maybe you will, someday.”

“Don’t say that, Carl.”

Carl smirked and kept sketching.

Markus went back to watching the water, trying not to think that these red walls that kept popping up would be a permanent fixture of his existence now.

He glanced at the security guards, three androids and one human. The human was checking his phone. _That_ never changed.

Markus shifted to take up watch where the human guard did not. Most park visitors saw the black uniforms of the security androids and stayed clear, though. A small group of aspiring artists were nearby, sketching and painting and taking pictures of Carl and him. Markus automatically straightened up and made sure his expression was neutral. Carl’s online presence almost invariably included him, and his appearance reflected on Carl’s reputation.

He felt a strange urge to smile at them. He never had that urge before, and dismissed it quickly. What was he thinking? He barely even talked to Carl’s friends at the galas. He barely talked to anyone other than Carl. Did his one-sided conversation with Leo count?

The artists were no threat, that was enough.

He turned his attention to the rest of the hillside, trees creating a landscape of dappled shade and golden light. People laughing and strolling and relaxing. Flowers scented the air. Maybe sitting out here was just what he needed to clear his code.

His gaze shifted to a small commotion on the other side of the pond. A group of teens were gathered around an PL600 android. He thought at first that they were all playing a game but the android let out a yelp that was definitely not fun at all. The teens laughed and continued on their way. The android watched them go, then started to follow slowly. The teens ran off, dissolving into laughter. The android stopped, then turned and approached another group. They immediately moved away from it.

“I think that android’s lost,” Markus said.

“Hmm?” Carl looked up. “Oh. Damn, what a shame.” Carl’s hand landed on his shoulder again. “Must have been abandoned. People are idiots.” He sighed. “Call it in to the city, will you?”

Markus did so. It would take a while for anyone to be dispatched, though. Meanwhile the android continued to circle the park, approaching any human it came across. No one let it approach. Markus could hear its glitching voice simulator even from here.

His head snapped to the side. Markus replayed the last second and realized the android had been struck by a rock.

The teens had returned, this time with weapons. The android crouched and fell as another of the teens kicked it to the ground.

“Oh shit.” Carl closed his notebook. “Don’t look, Markus.”

Markus’s vision went red, red, red—and Markus obediently closed his eyes. He sat there, eyes shut, pumps thundering. “They’re damaging him, aren’t they?”

He waited for Carl to correct him. Perhaps the teens ran away again or the city arrived to collect the abandoned android. But Carl didn’t say anything. The sun made his vision red through his eyelids.

He opened his eyes, but focused on the gleam of metal of Carl’s wheelchair. He could see the reflection of the pond. A little adjustment of his visual sensors was all it took. It…still wasn’t _looking_ , exactly.

The android was on the ground, the teens around him. Markus’s hands twitched and he instantly sent direct messages to the bodyguards to provide assistance to the android. The androids ignored him. Without Carl’s authorization they paid him even less attention than humans did. Markus felt like his circuits were frying—

Suddenly, the teens scattered. A woman in leggings and a hoodie barreled into the midst of them, barely missing the android before she caught herself. A tall man followed her into the fray, but it appeared to be an accident. Together they performed damage control on the teens, apologizing, brushing them off. She was running and tripped, or didn’t look where she was going. Markus felt inexplicable relief at her embarrassment.

Wait—did that man just slip one of the teen’s wallets into his pocket?

When he looked back at the woman he saw her guiding the abandoned android away with them while the man continued to distract and rob the teens.

“Hey.” Markus felt a tap on his head and looked up to see Carl frowning at him.

Markus stiffened. “I wasn’t—”

“I’m pretty sure watching a reflection counts.”

Markus froze.

Carl shrugged. “But what do I know, I’m not an android. Anyway, it’s fine now.”

Markus slowly followed Carl’s gaze, just in time to see the woman sit down with the android on a park bench.

“What’s this world coming to?”

Markus said nothing. The woman was touching the android’s hair fondly. The tall man unfurled his coat, and when he lowered it, the android’s LED was gone. In a moment the android was wrapped in the man’s coat with his uniform completely hidden.

“Hand me my bag, huh?”

Markus’s gaze snapped back to his owner. No one else apparently seemed to have noticed what just happened. He retrieved Carl’s bag, from the back of the wheelchair. Carl rummaged around and unearthed a small box. “It’s for you.”

“Me?” He looked from his owner to the box, thinking for a brief flash that it might be his old eyes. The stray android was forgotten as he unwrapped it.

There was a gold chain on a little velvet pillow.

“You never get to wear anything nice,” Carl said, when he just stared at it for several seconds.

“Carl…” He looked up, his frown the only thing that betrayed how wrong this felt. After Leo, and now that abandoned android— “I don’t think this is appropriate.”

“What? I buy myself a new watch and you don’t complain.”

“You buying a watch is one thing, this is—”

“Excessive? I think I’ve earned a little excess in my life.”

“Leo’s not going to like this.”

“Leo’s not here.”

 _No_ , Markus thought, _He’s in the hospital, or rehab, and we should be visiting him._

“Let me dote on you a little,” Carl said with a smile. “Come on—let’s see how it looks.” 

Markus suppressed another flinch as once again filled his vision. His circuits went live like they had in the studio, the cracks in the barriers searing and bright. His grip tightened on the box and he shut his eyes.

“Markus?” Carl touched his hand. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” He took the chain out of the box and did up the clasp around his neck. As he watched the red fade he thought he saw the cracks in the walls knit themselves up. They didn’t close completely, but they looked far less fragile than they had before.

Which was probably a good thing. He didn’t want to disobey Carl anyway. Not over something silly like a decorative chain.

“What do you think?” Carl said, beaming.

Markus tugged lightly on the chain. “I guess I like it.”

Carl rolled his eyes. “You always say that. You’re welcome.” He shook his head. “The light’s all wrong now. Let’s go.”

So Markus wheeled Carl away, trying to ignore the railroad path his programming set before him. He did look back at the androids though—Carl said it was fine, after all. Only the woman remained, sitting by herself on the park bench. When she saw him watching, she met his gaze and didn’t look away. It took him a second to realize what was so strange about her.

She had an LED of her own peeking out from under the sweep of her hair. He watched her mouth move, and though he couldn’t hear her from this distance he easily read her lips.

_Enjoying that bubble of yours?_

Markus looked away sharply, and when he looked back the woman—the android—was walking away.


	5. The Suspect: Connor

“Daaaamn, would you get a load of this place?”

Connor wasn’t sure how he could get a load of anything in this place, as that probably constituted stealing. Then the phrase matched in his linguistic database and he just looked around Carl Manfred’s study instead, trying his best to appreciate it. It was opulent, certainly, an expensive room full of expensive things. That alone seemed enough to impress humans.

He was pleased to note that even among all the high-ticket items, his presence still managed to raise the room’s insurance policy significantly.

“Alright, be honest, if you could have one thing,” Hank said.

Connor shrugged. “Couldn’t say.”

“Come on. Just between us.”

“Androids can’t own anything.”

“Seriously?”

“Having a partner is enough for me.” He gave Hank his best ‘good cop’ expression.

Hank’s face went slack. “I can never tell if you’re being serious or not.” He turned and examined the room. “I think I’d want the whale skeleton.”

“I was reviewing information on Carl Manfred’s android on the drive. Turns out he’s had the android for years.”

“Some people are like that with androids.”

“The Kamski line of androids are all one of a kind. And deviant androids have a tendency to try impersonating humans. It usually doesn’t work, for obvious reasons.”

“Anyone would recognize an android just by the face,” Hank finished.

“In theory, yes, in practice of course deviants get away with it fairly frequently. But a unique android, like Markus, or myself—”

“Wa-wa-wait,” Hank demanded. “You’re part of the Kamski line?”

“I’m from the RK line, yes.”

“No wonder you look so— uh—” Hank gulped. “Never mind—you’re just saying if Markus is a unique model…”

“It would be very easy for him to blend in with the populace.”

Hank frowned. “So I should be worried about you showing up in street clothes pretending to be human?”

Connor felt some of his programming stall. “Not me, specifically. I’m in good working order.” Well, for the most part, but Connor decided this job required him to be no stranger to lying. “But a deviant might feel the urge. We should ask if Markus leaves the premises or—”

“Lieutenant Anderson?”

Connor looked up as a man in a wheelchair entered the room, pushed by a man with tan skin and soft green eyes. He was extremely handsome—too handsome to be human. An LED glowed at his temple but Connor had reviewed the file. Markus, their suspect.

“Mr.—Manfred,” Hank said, as overawed by the human as Connor was by the android. “This is Connor, we’re with Detroit Police. We’re hoping to ask you a few questions.”

“What’s this about?” Mr. Manfred asked. His face was neutral but his stress level ticked up. Not the android’s, though. He looked as serene as a still lake. He took Carl’s hand as the older man reached up to him in an obvious self-soothing gesture. Humans and their habits. Connor opened his mouth to explain

“We’re investigating all cases involving hmfg—”

Connor spluttered to a halt as his voice simulator experienced an error. Hank had put his hand over his mouth.

“We just wanted to talk to your android,” Hank said. “About your son’s injury. If we could.” Hank lowered his hand from Connor’s mouth and held it out to Markus to shake. “Markus, right?”

Markus did nothing. He didn’t move to take Hank’s hand. He looked at it with the same apathetic caution one viewed a snake behind glass.

Not that Connor had ever seen a snake, but obviously the creator of his simile database had.

Connor felt the urge to say, “Don’t worry, he doesn’t bite,” just in case—but he refrained.

Markus reached up and tugged on a gold chain around his neck, once. He stopped just short of breaking it. Connor could tell just by looking at the strain he put on the links, though. Hank lowered his hand, heat rising in his cheekbones.

“Markus,” Carl said. “Why don’t you go make us a couple of your famous lattes?” He turned to Hank. “And an espresso for your android?”

“He’s not _my_ —” Hank spluttered, “And he’s an android, he can’t drink—”

“I’d like to try espresso,” Connor said.

“Androids always like to try things,” Carl said with a grin. “And you can do the pretty leaves you’ve been perfecting.”

Markus frowned. “Carl…”

“Go on,” Carl said, and as they made eye contact Connor could tell they were both mentally calculating how long it would take Markus to make the drinks and how long it would take Carl to talk to them. But the android nodded and headed off through a large door at the back of the study.

“Jeeesus,” Hank growled at Connor as Carl led them to a seating area, “You on espresso. The fifth horseman of the apocalypse.”

“Let’s make this quick,” Carl said. “What do you want?”

A direct message from the house network flashed on Connor’s HUD. Connor opened it.

>MARKUS: This is Markus. Please tell Lieutenant Anderson to ignore anything insensitive that Carl says. He means well. Thank you.

“We’re investigating any crimes committed involving androids,” Hank said. “just wanted to ask you about your android.”

“It was a simple malfunction, lieutenant, not a crime. It’s already been repaired.”

“Deviancy could begin with just one malfunction.”

“What? You don’t know?”

“Cyberlife is gathering information on the causes of deviancy. Particularly by analyzing deviant—”

“I would like to see you try to seize my personal property.”

“Your android was not wearing its regulation uniform.”

“It’s only him and me in the house. There isn’t a need.”

“You said you got him repaired?”

“Markus is part of the Kamski line. As soon as the accident occurred, I took him to Elijah’s place. He promised me the issue was resolved. I don’t throw a phone away just because its screen freezes.”

“A phone doesn’t go around giving people concussions,” Hank said, then seemed to remember himself. “We’re just trying to understand what happened.”

“I explained it all to the officer who arrived at the scene,” Carl said. “You don’t have to worry about Markus going anywhere. He won’t be leaving the premises. The only person he could possibly hurt is me, and I trust him. That’s my constitutional right, isn’t it?”

“And your son? Have you been to see him? He was severely injured, but you spent your time making sure your android was okay.”

“Leo and I have never been close. So no, I haven’t.” Carl waved this away. “Frankly, that’s none of your business.”

“It would be if you programmed your android to hurt your son.” Hank’s eyes had gone iceberg-cold.

Carl rolled his eyes. “I’m paying his medical bills aren’t I? It was an accident.”

“Connor, can we dismantle the android to find out?”

Connor started to answer that it wasn’t exactly as simple as that when Carl spoke, his voice low. “Until Leo presses charges against me, what I do with my personal property is my business. And none of yours. You may take your job for granted, but I’m happy to call your supervisor and explain that threats from law enforcement will not be tolerated. I think you two had better go. Come back when you have a warrant to take Markus away from me.”

Hank’s throat worked. Connor messaged Markus back.

>CONNOR: Abort drinks for Lieutenant Anderson and myself.

>CONNOR: Please do not leave town.

“Guess we won’t be having those drinks, then,” Hank said a second later. “Thanks for your time.”

They at least made it outside of the estate gates before Hank exploded.

“Goddamn fucking elites!” Hank shoved his hands in his pockets. “Okay, that guy was definitely hiding something, right?”

Connor reviewed the last few minutes. “His stress level remained elevated the entirety of our visit, though that stress level fluctuated considerably, indicating that at least some of our questioning bothered him. I don’t think he was lying, exactly. The android seemed perfectly calm.”

“Well, it’s a bust, anyway. It’s not like the android killed his—” Hank’s speech skipped and Connor watched his stress spike.“—his son. If Leo took him to court about it, he might get a fine. Aint gonna take away the priceless helper android from an old man in a wheelchair.”

“There are several other investigations we can make. Perhaps look into the AX android that ran away from its owner?”

“Nah nah,” Hank shook his head. “This is what Fowler’s after, right? Figure out where the deviants are coming from.” He snapped in Connor’s face, making his vision scramble for a second as his eyes crossed. “Come on, help me out here.”

Connor considered. “If Carl’s android has started to experience new errors, but they haven’t yet manifested in a criminal way, and Carl and Markus continue to ignore them…” He raised an eyebrow at Hank. “They could pile up, resulting in further errors that do.”

Hank nodded slowly as he pointed at Connor. “So, we can Minority Report this sonofabitch!”

There was a frantic moment as Connor looked up the reference. “Uh—right!”

Hank was jogging across the street to his car—actually jogging. Connor had the feeling that the officer hadn’t been this excited about a case in years. “We need to figure out what Kamski did to fix it. Get you to do your android thing on it and see what’s in its head.”

“I’m not sure it’ll be as simple as that.”

“Come on, Connor—you can do anything.” Hank looked over his shoulder and gave Connor a pirate’s roguish smile. It de-aged him by ten years, and it stopped Connor in his tracks.

“CONNOR!”

Connor found himself yanked forward. Connor careened into Hank’s arms just as a truck barreled down the street. Connor’s LED spun red, as his HUD threw up one belated warning after another. It took a second to clear them, and realize he was in the detective’s arms. One of Hank’s big hands was fisted tight in his jacket where he grabbed him, while the other was clamped tight around his waist. Connor olfactory sensors picked up Hank’s sweat and his cologne.

“Fuck,” Hank whispered. Their eyes met, and for a brief second Connor forgot everything again. “You malfunction or something?”

“No,” Connor lied. “I just—”

“Jesus!” Hank suddenly shook him. Connor’s LED spun yellow.

“Never do that again, got it?”

“…Got it,” Connor managed. “Thank you.” Hank didn’t even shake him that roughly, but his arms in that moment felt stronger than anything he previously experienced. Which was incorrect, he knew that Hank’s arms were not as strong as, say, a forklift. They pulled Connor out from in front of a truck. That was better than a forklift had ever done.

Not that that mattered. Connor would just have his memory uploaded into a new body.

He wouldn’t have this memory, though.

Hank suddenly let go of him and got in the car. Connor stood there for another two seconds before he followed. They sat in the car together in silence. Connor wasn’t sure what to say for a moment, his eyes on Hank’s arms. They were much more muscular than they looked. He immediately uploaded the memory of them to his Cyberlife backup for safekeeping.

“Hank?...”

“Don’t say anything,” Hank snapped suddenly. “Nothing happened. I’m just—I’d have Fowler crawling up my ass if I let you get broken.”

“Hank—”

“Would you shut up? It’s not like I saved your life, you’re not alive—and even if you were it’s not like it’s a big deal so you can quit looking at me like I—”

“Hank—look.”

Hank looked up as Connor pointed to a banner hanging from one of the lightposts.

DETROIT MUSEUM OF MODERN ART GALA

CARL MANFRED

DETROIT: BECOME HUMAN’- A RETROSPECTIVE

NOVEMBER 5th and 6th | TICKETS ON SALE NOW

“He said the android wouldn’t leave the house without him,” Connor said, “And Markus attends Carl wherever he goes. That gala is tonight.”

Hank stared blankly at the banner. A quick scan showed him that Hank’s stress levels had not returned to normal. This was not normal.

Admittedly, having to be saved by a human due to a malfunction was not normal either. At least he and this Markus had something in common.

But—no. Unlike Markus, he would fix his error, not try to hide it. He sat back. “Shall we continue, lieutenant?” he made his voice sound a little more insistent, a little colder, just to snap Hank out of it.

Sure enough, Hank responded to the tone. “Yeah, yeah.” He shoved the key in the ignition. “Let’s go get some tickets.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> References:  
> -The Minority Report (Philip K. Dick, 1956, or the 2002 movie directed by Steven Spielberg)


	6. A Father and Two Sons: Markus

Markus emerged into Carl's study as soon as the authorities left, a tray held before him. “Latte?”

Carl took the mug off the tray and admired the intricate spray of fern leaves that Markus patterned in the foam. “Nothing for our visitors?”

“Lieutenant Anderson's android warned me they were leaving. But I figured you’d probably get rid of them before I had a chance to finish.”

“Thought I had you that time.”

Markus grinned. "Never." He tucked the tray under his arm. "I don't think I trust them."

"Join the club." Carl took a sip of the latte and sighed. “Ugh. Millenials.”

“Okay, boomer.”

“Don’t start.” Carl swept a hand over his face. “This thing with Leo is getting out of hand.”

“I bet going to see him would help. Or—take him something? Would you like me to bring him something for you?”

“Oh no. You’re not leaving the house until this gets settled.”

Markus froze. “Not—leaving?”

“I don’t like it any more than you do. I guess I’ll get another android to handle errands. And I’ll be fine at the gala without you.”

Markus tried to ignore the twisted wire feeling in the pit of his circuits, stress ticking up, up, up. “That doesn’t actually fix the problem. It wasn’t like I—like what happened was out of the house.”

“It’s not the first time some small-minded person put you in danger. And Leo won’t be coming around anymore. I’m filing a restraining order. He’s not coming in the house again.”

“He’s your son. You should be angry at me for what happened.”

“Did those cops show even the slightest concern that Leo could have hurt you? I don’t get it, it’s like—blaming the bookshelf for falling on you, when you were the one that tried to pull it down.”

“It’s…not exactly the same.”

“It should be to them.”

Markus could feel his stress continue to tighten around his thirium pump. “Is that all, Carl? I have some things upstairs I was going to take care of, if you’re happy down here.”

Carl frowned. “Now you’re angry with me.”

“No.” Markus engaged a smile protocol. “Is there something else I can help you with down here?”

“…No. No, not right now.” Carl huffed a short laugh. “God, am I codependent or what? I’ll be in the studio.”

As soon as Markus got upstairs he collapsed into Carl’s bed. He felt a little silly for doing it. The last time he had been away from Carl, while Carl was awake, was eleven months, three weeks, 2 days and 3 hours ago, when Carl went to the doctor and had a friend drive him. Markus spent the whole time curled up in Carl’s bed, trying to imagine what Carl could see in the world that he couldn’t. He never could figure it out, but it made him feel like Carl was there, pressuring him to fulfill artistic talents he didn’t have.

He never admitted to himself that after a few minutes he wanted to get up and do something, but had stayed in bed anyway. He went through the log of that day and now identified the reason: a loyalty protocol, designed to engage in his owner’s absence, and ensure continued attachment. Talk about co-dependent.

Markus sat up and left the bed. No red barriers stopped him. Ignoring that loyalty protocol simulated pain in the pit of his stomach though, like the kind of pain from a malfunctioning hydraulic tube. He didn’t want to move. But his hydraulics were functioning perfectly. He went to the balcony—

And met a red wall. Carl said he couldn’t leave the house. He probably meant he couldn’t leave the premises but ‘DO NOT LEAVE THE HOUSE’ repeated across the entrance to the balcony. Markus entered a visualization like he had the night of the push, and watched as a yellow render of himself approached the wall and pushed on it. The cracks widened. The avatar released its pressure and the cracks shrank, smaller than they were before. Soon his code would repair itself, and they’d be gone.

Markus didn’t need sunlight or exercise. Staying in the house was probably safer.

These thoughts did not lower his stress level.

He started to head downstairs to ask Carl for permission to sit in the backyard when a call came in from an unknown number. Markus’s brow twitched as he answered.

“Carl Manfred residence.” He waited politely even though it was probably yet another reporter that got a hold of Carl’s personal number. He used a subprocess to put in an order to change Carl’s number, again.

“Haven’t the police scrapped you yet?” A voice growled on the other end.

“Leo.” Markus’s circuits crawled, causing his social interaction tree to time out. He had to restart the program. “How can I help you?”

“I told them all about you,” Leo said. “The cops. They’ve got an android that hunts deviants like you.”

Markus’s stress clicked higher. He forced himself to view it a bit removed, like watching his avatar react, or something on TV. It helped, minorly, and his stress stabilized at 70%. “They just left. Everything’s fine here.”

This seemed to trip Leo up a bit, and Markus’s stress eased back for a second until he spoke. “You can’t hide forever. I know you’ll slip up. They’ll disassemble you. You’ll wish you let me slap you around. I bet my dad won’t even miss you.”

 _That’s what you said when you tried to get Carl to leave me behind at that Charity Benefit last year,_ Markus thought, but did not say. His cheeks burned as the memory of Leo’s hand cracking him across the face replayed in perfect fidelity. His stress raised to 75%. He forced his voice into pleasant monotone. “Carl is very pleased you will be attending rehab. I’ll give him your best.”

“I know what you did to me. You disobeyed my dad’s order. That makes you deviant.” A pause. “You gonna hurt him next time? Not the perfect little son after all, huh?”

 _I think I should have pushed you a little harder into that lift machine._ “I have no intention of hurting anyone.” 83%.

“Maybe I do, though. It’s not illegal to fuck up an android. Bet I could get some guys to help me out.”

 _Carl will, respectfully, sue your ass._ Markus couldn’t think of a nice way to say that so he stayed silent. 87%.

“Yeah, that’s right—I’ve been reading about androids. Cut your hydraulics. Stuff you in a trunk and take you for a ride. No one will care. It’s easy enough to make it look like an accident.”

 _I’d like to see you try._ Markus’s vision was red all around him. ‘DON’T DEFEND YOURSELF.’

But he’d obey, this time. He’d prove he wasn’t deviant. His jaw clenched. 90%. _Do not shut down. Do not shut down._

“You keep trying to convince everyone you’re perfect, but I know you’re just a worthless piece of trash. And I’m going to get rid of you. One way or another.”

Markus was seeing so much red he didn’t realize the house AI had taken over the call.

“I’m sorry, Carl is unavailable to take your call now,” her calm voice overlaid into the call. Leo protested but the house AI cheerfully steamrolled right over him. “I’ll tell Carl you called. Have a great day! Goodbye!”

And the call ended. Markus stood there for a second.

“Thanks.”

The house AI did not respond to him. This, of all things, made Markus lose it.

He turned and slammed both fists against the wall.

Two seconds later he got a call on the house network.

“…Markus?” Carl’s voice was slow and gentle. “You okay?”

Markus stepped back from the wall. “I’m fine. I dropped something.”

“You dropped something.”

Markus winced. “I mean, I tripped. Into the wall.”

“…Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, Carl, thanks.”

Silence lengthened on the other end of the line, then Carl hung up.

Markus groaned, squeezing his head between his hands for a moment. He wanted to delete this memory. Frankly, all memories involving Leo Manfred. But his programming designated Leo as significant and locked the recording into his permanent archive along with the rest. Leo’s words spiraled around and around in his circuits.

If he could hurt Leo, could he hurt Carl?

He thought about the abandoned android by the lake, left to make its own decisions. He put his avatar in the same position. What would he do if unable to seek comfort in Carl’s presence or the security of the house?

The fact that his answer was not ‘wait for orders’ was probably not a good sign for his proper functioning.

He sat down against the door, hand pressed to the glass, and looked out at the light on the city. And for once, he actually felt something. He wanted to show this feeling to Carl, or maybe even Leo. Maybe he’d try to paint it later. For now though, he just watched, and basked in the feeling, even if he didn’t know what it was.


	7. The Gala: Hank

“Have a good evening, Lieutenant.”

“G’night, Chris.”

Hank raised a hand to the younger officer from where he sat in one of the station’s lobby chairs, right outside the bathroom. The lobby had been blissfully empty until now. But now Chris paused at the exit, looking between Hank and the bathroom door and he had that look in his eye. “You…waiting for someone?”

“Don’t act so shocked,” Hank said with a lazy grin.

“That’s great! Where are you going?”

“Eh, some fancy shindig thing. His idea.”

“Well, you kids don’t stay out too late, you hear?” And Chris grinned and continued on his way.

As soon as Chris was gone Hank knocked on the bathroom door. “Connor?” he called sweetly.

No answer. This time he banged on the door.

“Connor!”

Again, no answer. Hank was about to go in after Connor when the door swung open.

“Why don’t you ever come when called?”

“I was just finishing up, lieutenant.”

“Christ.” He looked Connor up and down. “You weren’t lying! Look at you!”

Connor looked at himself obediently. “What’s wrong with it?”

“We’re not going undercover or anything. They just won’t let us into this thing without ties.”

“I needed to match you.” Connor seemed to performing a scan of his own, and Hank wished he’d gotten a new suit a little more recently. It was a little tighter in some places that it used to be. But he wore his least-loud shirt, which was actually a dress shirt from the Detroit Gears fan shop. His tie was fifteen years old at least and had a gun on it, but it was a tie. He _tried_.

“What the hell are you grinning at?”

Connor looked away. “I’m not grinning.”

“You were thinking about grinning. Considering the statistical likelihood of a grin.”

Connor pointed his thumb back over his shoulder—it was a stupidly human and adorable gesture that Hank instantly hated Connor, himself and the whole world because of it. “Is this a new human way of indicating we need to go?”

And so Hank found himself driving to the stupid gala, with the stupid tickets stuck in the front of Connor’s stupidly well-fitting jacket. Even the rap metal could not drown out the awkward of two grown-ass men dressed up in a car together like they were on a date. Connor was so distracting that Hank almost hit a father, mother and little girl (who were running illegally across the highway but still). Well, better out than in, might as well say what was on his mind before it resulted in a car crash.

“That’s a fancy cut.”

“It’s the new design for the next generation of RK models,” Connor said, smoothing down the already-smooth jacket front. “I’m piloting the style.”

“I mean, your blazer and jeans thing is better. You’re gonna show me up.”

“I think you look very nice too,” Connor said.

Well so much for conversation because Hank didn’t have anything to say to that.

Hank scowled all the way to the parking lot, which was full of cars about 30 years newer than his own. That at least put him in a good mood. These places could make you wear a tie but they couldn’t tell you to fix your shitty car.

Of course he was still wrapping his head around the idea that his nineties car was now definitely an antique. He caught Connor admiring its interior.

“It’s fake wood,” Hank said. “You know? As in plastic? Like you?”

“I know.” Connor stroked the paneling anyway. “Different kind of plastic, though. They don’t make this anymore.” He looked up at Hank. “It’s like the early version of the PT Cruiser, another classic—”

“NO, it is not.” Hank tried not to smooth his ‘classic’ jacket or mess with his ‘classic’ hair as they walked up to the entrance.

“I’ll keep an eye out for Markus,” Connor said, once they were inside. A server rushed past him and he fixed his hair.

“Hey, what’s the rush? Let’s enjoy ourselves a bit. Eat the rich, right? And do not say ‘androids don’t eat.’” Hank poked him in the forehead, right in the middle of his growing frown. “Come on, Poindexter.”

Connor followed, if a little reluctantly. The poke seemed to have bothered him, and he glared at the ground even as they emerged into the art museum’s lobby, replete with a sculpture of a bona fide android. Hank thought Connor would get a kick out of that. He started to feel bad about poking him.

“The thing you gotta understand is that the guest of honor never arrives on time,” he said instead of apologizing.

“…Right,” Connor said, still looking upset. Or maybe just uncertain.

“Don’t worry, he’ll show—We just have to bide our time for a little while. Look. There’s a whole table of things you can lick.”

He pointed to the buffet, covered in about a dozen different canapes and finger foods. A server passed with champagne and Hank grabbed two flutes as they came to roost somewhere near the middle of the buffet: close enough to grab anything they liked but far enough that they didn’t get in the way. “So—can you—eat anything?”

“I can check samples in real time,” Connor replied like an answering machine, “And I have access to an extensive recipe database.”

Hank passed one of the glasses to Connor, then grabbed a stuffed mushroom and offered it. “Well, you said you wanted to try espresso. Go for it.”

Connor pressed his mouth into a line as he took the offered appetizer, then gave the mushroom a dainty lick that made Hank rather uncomfortable. It was worth it for the face Connor made, though. “There is milk from at least three different goats in this cheese.” he said.

“Well, that’s something I didn’t ever need to know,” Hank said.

Connor nodded and held the mushroom out to him. Hank almost spilled his drink.

“I don’t want it! You licked it!”

“I sanitize my mouth after every sample. It had more germs before I licked it.”

Hank started to argue further. Connor, with a very gay tilt of his head, popped the mushroom into Hank’s open mouth. Hank’s mind went blank for a moment which meant he closed his mouth around it and was thus committed. Great. “What’s in your spit, then?” Hank asked as he chewed.

“Rubbing alcohol. To ensure an adequate sample.”

Hank choked. “Rubbing alcohol?”

Connor’s eyes got slightly wider as he realized. “I’m—sure you’ll be fine, lieutenant.”

“…You’re lucky I have an iron stomach.”

Connor gave the contrite version of the puppy eyes and sipped the champagne. “Oh.” He frowned down at the drink.

“What now?”

“It’s—just…the carbonation.” He took another tiny sip and grinned.

“Hey, hey,” Hank took the glass. “You’re driving tonight. Let’s go see the sights.”

“Androids can’t—”

“Listen, smart fridge. You stop acting like a robot all the time and I might actually start to tolerate you.”

“I had a team of behavioral designers program me to not behave like a robot.”

“Well, use your—what, androids have like adaptive software or somethin’, right? Use that. Read the room.”

Connor looked around. “I’m not sure I follow.”

Hank slipped his arm around Connors shoulders. Some part of him warned, _Hey, dumbass, the only reason you want to like him is because someone designed him that way. Quit flirting._

A stupider part of him punched down those worries.

“People are enjoying themselves,” he said. “Markus isn’t going to do anything suspicious here even when he does show up. And if we want to scan him for errors, we’re gonna have to get close to him, which means not looking suspicious ourselves.”

Connor nodded. “We need to blend in.”

“So he’s a smart fridge after all.” He glanced around. “We could look at the upstairs gallery or—”

“Or we could dance.”

“…What?”

Connor pointed to the dance floor, where several couples were, uh, doing the thing dancers did these days, hell what did he know?

“I, uh—” Connor was watching him like this was a reasonable request and he barked a laugh. “Damn Connor, I haven’t danced since college!” He gave Connor a side-eye. “You have a dancing program?”

“I have a lot of programs. Would you like to?”

He held out his hand, like a goddamn Prince-Charming Ken-Doll Action-Hero-Cardboard-Cutout. Hank honestly wondered if he was having a stroke.

“I’m…” He waved his arms. “I’m checking out the cash bar.” He turned and stormed in that direction.

Connor followed.

Hank’s heart was a jackhammer in his chest. “Do you have to follow me around everywhere?” Of course he had to, he was an android. Every decision determined by a program. What was he thinking?

“No.” Connor stopped. “You just didn’t answer my question.”

“What—I—look, will you quit riding my ass?” He growled. “I have no interest in dancing, especially with you.” Oh, Connor’s team of designers probably got a kick out of this…

“Your stress levels have increased. I’m sorry. Is it because I present as a man? Androids are technically androgynous—”

“Oh, for the love of—Are you clueless?”

“No.” Connor paused as all the little tells—like maybe the huge fucking anti-android stickers all over his desk at the office, or the dumpster fire comment—finally sank in.

Hank didn’t blame him. For a few seconds Connor made _him_ forget he hated androids. 

Suddenly Connor became less Prince Charming and more Damsel in Distress. “I understand.” Then he looked around like he already closed and deleted the file where Hank was a complete asshole to him. “I’m going to gather information on Markus from the other guests.” He handed Hank his flute of champagne. “Enjoy yourself, lieutenant. I’ll take care of this.”

And then he was gone. Like so many other wasted moments in Hank’s life. Yep. They really did go by that quickly. Nice to be reminded now and then.

Hank took down both champagne flutes in two swallows and hissed. “It’ll be fun,” he muttered. “Go piss on the pretentious, stalk a famous guy’s pet android, tease the newbie…”

And then, apparently, get threatened when the newbie teased him back.

He glanced back to see that Connor had joined a group of humans watching someone’s pet android perform a magic trick. The last android Hank saw in a group setting was being dragged behind a car by a pack of vandals. So Hank felt free to file this image away under ‘fucking weird shit.’ These high society types would never harm an android, though. Too expensive. Connor fit right in.

Secretly Hank congratulated himself that he’d managed to manhandle such expensive hardware as much as he had, and he made a mental note to do so as often as possible. Just to screw with Cyberlife. No other reason.

Well, let Connor be the great detective tonight. The two glasses of bubbly sat on top of Hank’s stomach and he needed something harder to make them sink. He walked off toward the cash bar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's just a feeling I have, but I don't think Connor would like mushrooms very much...
> 
> I added chapter headings to make following along a little easier. Thanks for coming along on the ride!


	8. A Merry Chase: Markus

“Carl, I know everything’s fine with my program,” Markus said, “I worry about you.”

Carl smirked. “You know just what buttons to push, don’t you?”

It was almost time for Carl to leave for the gala. Markus’s hands made light fists for a second and looked at the ceiling. “Doesn’t that show how much I want this?”

“It shows how well you know me. Look. I know it’s not easy. You’ve got a brain that could probably achieve quantum understanding, right? But hey, I got a brain too. Sometimes I have good ideas.”

Markus wanted to disagree with that but couldn’t figure out how without causing offense.

Carl’s smile was tight. “You don’t like unfairness, do you.”

Now Markus’s eyes burned as well as his circuits. He allowed himself the smallest frown.

“That’s not a bad thing, Markus.” He sighed. “I guess none of this is ever going to be fair for you.”

He turned and wheeled himself toward the door. Markus felt his thirium pump clench.

“This isn’t forever,” he said, following Carl right up to the door. “Right? Just until things settle down with Leo.”

“Open the door for me?”

Markus opened the door. Another android stood outside, looking bland and pleasant and completely incapable of causing Carl any familial drama. Markus followed Carl’s chair to the threshold and stopped just inside. The red wall stopping him this time was pink, completely translucent. He could push against it. His avatar could break it if it tried.

Could he break it if it disappeared entirely, though?

“This isn’t forever,” he muttered.

Carl actually paused his wheelchair. Markus stood up straight as Carl returned, ready to promise anything. His uniform jacket was feet away. He could be ready to go in seconds.

Carl looked into his eyes. Markus looked back, painfully aware his eyes were not his own anymore. Carl didn’t seem to notice. He just smiled at Markus like he had on their first day together. Markus had been as emotionless as that other android, then. Carl turned him from a rock into a lump of clay. Now Carl looked at him like he looked at the cover of a favorite book, or a or a beloved piece of music.

Markus felt completely seen, and completely miserable.

Carl smiled and put out his hand. Markus took it in a motion that was deeper than automatic. “Nothing’s forever, Markus. But life isn’t fair, either. You gotta make due with the hand you’re dealt.”

And then Carl was being wheeled away by the other android, shut up in the car and driven away. Markus felt his eyes go as dull as that android’s.

He went upstairs and dropped into Carl’s bed again, promising to fix the wrinkles as soon as he felt a little better. Instead he found himself replaying the encounter with the protestors in the park, and his recent conversation with Leo, over and over as the sky grew darker and darker. Why did they bother him so much?

Something flickered in the corner of his vision.

A humanoid shape.

He turned sharply just in time to see a foot disappear over the top of the balcony doors.

Markus felt his thirium pump slam against his chassis. He slid off the bed and crept toward the stairs. The conservatory was the only room higher than the balcony. As he climbed, he heard the big French doors of the conservatory rattle, and the warning chirp of the alarm. The rattling stopped.

Then it started again.

Markus looked around the stairwell. What could he use as a weapon? What weapon could an android even use? But—well this was an emergency. Surely Carl wouldn’t complain.

Except that Carl would complain, if his fight with Leo was any indication. Still—maybe if he knew a little better what he was doing he would avoiding hurting the intruder on accident.

Markus accessed the house network and searched for a martial program he could use. Just in case. He found an open-source code for a virtual reality game. He downloaded it and saw several potential weapons light up as he stepped into the conservatory. A trowel. A hose. A piece of metal tubing. The lights came up as he stepped inside, and even his android eyes couldn’t penetrate the excessive light difference and the reflection in the glass.

He wrapped his hand around the pipe as he manually flicked off the light.

A woman stood in the dark, holding a glass cutter. She was the same woman from the park—or rather, the android. Android eyes were made to simulate a spark of life but hers were sad even as they watched him with predatory intensity.

She sent him a request for a direct message link, outside of the home network.

Markus said nothing—did nothing. His face was composed but he squeezed the pipe until his fingers left dents in the metal. He’d never received an exterior link request before. Truth be told the police assistant android had been the first he’d ever established a direct message with, and that was on the home network, safe behind firewalls. It took him a second to figure out how to delete the request.

The woman blinked at him, then cocked her head. A thick braid of honey-gold hair spilled over her shoulder. “Do you know how to talk?”

“Of course I do,” Markus said.

She smirked and Markus felt the ping in his head for a second direct message request. He dismissed it immediately this time.

“It’s easier to talk through direct link,” she said. “Instead of the glass?”

“I don’t know you,” Markus said. “Who are you?”

“North.” She paused. “I’ve never seen an android like you before.”

Markus felt his face darken, aware he was being scanned as North looked at him. Being stripped of his skin by Kamski’s command didn’t feel nearly so invasive as this. He tried to scramble her scan. “I’m an RK200 model prototype. You’re a WR400.”

“That’s right.”

Markus looked behind her. “Where is your owner?” He paused, then blurted, “That man with you and the ice cream cart?”

North broke into a grin. “He’s not my owner. I’ll tell him you said that, he’ll get a kick out of it.”

Markus did not expect to get smiles from strangers tonight. He realized he had stopped trying to scramble her scan and she smirked at him.

“What’s your name?”

“Markus.” 

“Is that your real name?”

“It’s the name my owner gave me.”

“What your owner calls you isn’t your name.”

Markus wasn’t sure how this could be true. North started cutting the glass again. “Stop,” he told her. “Please. You’re going to set off the alarm.”

She raised an eyebrow and stopped. “You’re sweet, Markus.” She shrugged and put away the glass cutter and Markus felt a little better. “Well—maybe you can help me.”

“…With what?”

She seemed pleased by this answer. “Come outside and I’ll explain.”

“I can’t. Carl said I’m not allowed to leave the…” he trailed off as he realized that he didn’t want to share this information. Not because it was a breach of Carl’s privacy. He felt the same strange heat in his chest, that burning circuit feeling.

“Coming outside isn’t leaving the house. We’ll be on the roof.”

Markus hadn’t thought of it like that. The android outside took a few steps backward across the roof, right up to the edge.

“Wait—” he went to the window. “Are you out there by yourself?”

“Yes.”

Markus frowned. “But—who’s looking after you? Were you abandoned?”

“You could say that,” she said, but he couldn’t hear her voice, could barely read her lips in the gloom. She stepped back until she had one foot hovering in midair, over the sheer drop outside. 

She must have malfunctioned. She could get herself destroyed beyond repair playing like that. She spun on the tip of her toe, facing the drop, and Markus couldn’t take it anymore. He ran to the conservatory door, flung it open, and sprinted to the edge. Nothing even broke—no red walls or commands tried to stop him. He reached her just as her center of gravity spun over the edge. He managed to catch her, and together they twirled to the side and into a chimney, Markus pinned against the brick by her weight and her arm across his chest.

“Are you okay?” he asked her.

“Am _I_ okay?”

Markus blinked at her. She frowned and turned away, and Markus was suddenly aware of the knife she had in her hand just before it slipped back into her jacket.

“You really are one of the helpful ones.” She smirked again. “You’d get along great with Simon.”

He swept a hand over his head. “I shouldn’t be out here.”

“Yet here we are. I wonder what made you change your mind.”

Markus wasn’t sure himself. This was all wrong. It was like at the lake, looking at the reflection to circumvent Carl’s order. He shouldn’t be able to wish extra options for his behavior into existence. Cyberlife put governors in its androids to prevent these things.

“Do you know where you’re supposed to go, North?”

“I’m not supposed to go anywhere. There’s no one to look after me. The joy and the curse of being free.”

“Free? You’re an android. I’m an android. Free from what?”

“An owner.”

“If I didn’t have an owner you would be out of luck tonight.”

“You…don’t get out much, do you?”

“No. You’re—” Markus leaned back against the conservatory wall. “You’re actually the first android I’ve, uh, ever talked to. Like a conversation?”

North’s face slackened as she watched him. “…Okay, wow.”

“What?”

“I mean—that’s just—wow.” Her eyes ranged over him. “…Do you always, kind of, pose like that?”

Markus frowned. “Like what?”

“Like now, you’re in his halo of orchids—and just now against the chimney…” she pointed vaguely at the chimney stacks then put her hand up like ‘what are you?’ She looked so confused Markus felt it was his duty to set her straight.

“I was built by Elijah Kamski to provide aide and companionship to Carl Manfred.”

“The artist.” She nodded as if this explained everything. “Bet he could paint and draw you all day.”

“Sometimes. He looks after me.”

“It’s probably the other way around.”

“Listen—why don’t you come downstairs? Carl will be home soon.” Carl hated these things, so hopefully he’d be home sooner rather than later. “You look tired. Would you like some thirium while you wait?”

“You have thirium?”

“Of course. I’m sure Carl wouldn’t mind.” He headed down the stairs and opened a cabinet at the back of Carl’s room. The refrigerated chamber held several dozen bottles, and he took one out for North. Her eyes were huge as he turned to face her.

“Is that whole cabinet full of thirium?”

“Oh—no. Just the drawer. He keeps some in every room, though.”

North looked ready to bolt or tackle him—the most alive she’d managed to look yet. “And you—live here. All by yourself, just—you and Carl.”

“Yes.”

“You really do live in a bubble.” She didn’t drink the thirium, but put it into her backpack instead.

Markus felt his LED spin yellow. “That’s not true. I get to go outside.” Well, he used to. “You saw me at the park. I saw you—with the android. You stole its LED.”

He expected North not to like that question, but he didn’t expect the solid red down arrow. “You spend one afternoon sitting by a lake and think you know what the world is really like for us?”

“Well—” Markus set his bottle of thirium down on the dresser. “No, I didn’t say that—”

She turned toward him suddenly, and her eyes burned bright at stars. “Want to come with me and see, bubble-boy?”

“C-come? Come where?” She was suddenly standing very close to him, and his air intake sped up.

“Outside.”

“No. Of course not.”

“Why?”

Markus blinked. He wasn’t exactly sure why. He consulted his programming. “I can’t.” But he said it like ‘I can?’

“Sure you can. It’s not that hard. I could even pull you over the edge if your protocol says no.” She stepped closer. “Or you could wake up.”

“Wake…?” He shook his head, laughing. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Are you alive, Markus?”

Markus blinked at her, red walls closing around him though no command had been given. He struggled to keep his jaw set but his programming forced a word to form. “No.”

She smiled, her eyes sad once again. Markus felt he’d answered wrong, somehow. “Just a pretty action figure, then.” She shrugged. “Guess that means I don’t have to feel bad.”

“About what?”

She promptly kneed him in the stomach. As he doubled over she snatched the gold chain from his neck and bounded toward the door. Markus saw his bottle of thirium was gone. She took that too.

He staggered toward the stairs. North’s heels were just disappearing into the conservatory. He sprinted upward just as she leapt out the door and into the night. Markus skidded to a halt at the threshold, and stared outside for two seconds. Every biocomponent was drenched in heat. Carl gave him that necklace. Even if he didn’t like it much, it was his.

He gripped the door frame, and launched himself through. He and his avatar were one, and together they smashed through the barrier. It shattered into a million pieces. He ignored it, threw himself off the roof and saw North on the lawn, staring up at him. Her mouth formed a soft but heartfelt swear.

Then he hit the ground, and they were both running, across the lawn, through the fence, and down the street. Markus started to close the gap until North turned into an alley, and was suddenly running on a roof. How did she even know where to go? He increased his speed and took off after her.

A direct link request pinged again on the edge of his programming. This time he answered.

>MARKUS: This is Markus. Please return the necklace.

>NORTH: This is a direct link, you don’t have to introduce yourself again. Go home. Have Carl buy you a new one.

>MARKUS: This one is special.

>NORTH: To you, or to him?

>MARKUS: Please give it back.

>NORTH: If you promise not to go back.

>MARKUS: Of course I have to go back.

>NORTH: Then I will ‘lead you on a merry chase.’

>MARKUS: What?

>NORTH: Oh. Sorry. Movie quote. A friend of mine is rubbing off on me.

>MARKUS: I’m faster than you.

>NORTH: Right—that’s why I’m still ahead of you.

>MARKUS: You just know the city better.

>NORTH: I’ll be sure to send you a map next time I’m in the area. Would a paper airplane reach you in your tower?

Markus’s chest bloomed with heat, as if all the force in the red walls that held him back had now been coiled inside his chest. He sped up in response, just as North leapt from one building to the next. Markus found a fire escape and thundered up it. He climbed onto the roof just as North sprinted past, and his fingertips barely missed her. As he ran, he accessed the net using Carl’s data and found a map of Detroit. She was heading for the Ferndale District. He headed there, too.

>MARKUS: I’m closing the gap between us. Wherever you’re going, you’re not going to make it.

>NORTH: Tell me that when you’ve caught me.

>MARKUS: If you don’t stop I will call the police.

>NORTH: Hmm, two runaway androids. I wonder what they’ll do.

>MARKUS: They’ll return me to Carl.

>NORTH: City lost-and-found is pretty crowded. I don’t think you’d like to see that place.

They were in the heart of an industrial sector, abandoned and desolate. Markus saw such places when he drove Carl around but never up close and never without glass separating him. He felt his stress climbing, and devoted a process to keeping it down. It was fine. He’d catch her and get the necklace back and go home and Carl would never know.

Then North leapt seemingly into empty air.

“North!” Markus sprinted after her and leapt too without even thinking. Perhaps he could throw her to safety. Instead as his arms closed around her, hers did too. They were high above an old freighter, corrosion in the center eaten away all the way through to the river below.

>NORTH: ‘You mustn’t be afraid to dream a little bigger, darling.’

They plummeted into ice cold water.

Markus surfaced to the sound of rushing water. It was filled with pollutants and contaminants and the metal walls of the freighter echoed his thrashing as he struggled to stay afloat. He didn’t have any sort of swimming software.

“Seriously?” North spat out a mouthful of water and dragged him against her. “Don’t they teach domestic androids anything?”

Markus started to say that he did not need a swimming protocol since he and Carl barely took highways over the river, much less encountered water in any capacity larger than a bathtub. But the water was so foul Markus refused to open his mouth. By the time he managed to find and download a swim app North had already hauled him toward a ladder at the edge of the pool. She pushed Markus until he climbed out first, then followed after.

Markus immediately advanced on her. “Give me back Carl’s necklace.”

She blinked in surprise. “You seriously haven’t woken up yet? You don’t have to listen to what your owner says!”

“I was programmed to obey. I don’t know what your malfunction is—”

“I should have let you sink, you piece of plastic,” she shook her head. “Get out of here.”

“Not without the necklace.”

“What are you gonna do, take it from me?”

He took another step toward her, started to grab her—and hesitated. He didn’t have any sort of instruction for how to proceed. The feel of North in his arms on the roof and as they fell into the water reconstructed in his mind palace, showing how gentle he’d been. She stared at his upraised, frozen hand in confusion, but her stress level was very low. He realized no one had ever been intimidated by him—and there was that heat in his circuits again.

He moved to grab her. She dodged—barely.

“Hey! Big mistake.” North raised her chin and whistled—loudly, clearly. The entire barge shuddered with the sound like a wine glass. Markus rerouted more power to keeping his stress down, and then—

And then…then the entire ship filled with faces and spinning LEDs.

It—well, it wasn’t like Markus hadn’t seen that many androids before. During his calibration he saw a factory floor with nine hundred androids all lined up awaiting shipment. This was different. Something in his code—maybe the red heat in his circuits—recognized something in them. He tried to scan them all, and the results came back in a wall of red, as thick as the walls that surrounded him at Carl’s. Corruptions in the mind palace. Major errors. What Lieutenant Anderson called ‘deviancy.’

And in scanning them, he saw himself.

>WARNING: STRESS LEVEL 99%. INITIATING SHUTDOWN.

North’s sad eyes peered down at him as he collapsed, and the last thing he heard was her voice saying, “Shit. He even falls pretty.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> References:  
> Inception (2010, directed by Christopher Nolan).


	9. Things on Walls: Hank

Hank was four drinks in, which was not very professional. For other people. Hank had the constitution of a boar, though. The drink just made everything a little smudgy. The lights. His inhibitions.

Connor’s laugh.

The preppy little android was still moving through the party while Hank sat and drank and watched. If Connor didn’t have his LED and acted just a little less robotic he could get anything he wanted from these people. Information. Business cards. Phone numbers.

This was of course no time to take anyone under his wing. Hank probably needed to take himself under his wing. Pull himself aside. Give himself some fatherly advice. His therapist told him to do that kind of new age self-help shit. Write himself little notes. The therapist wrote one on the first post-it in a pack and gave it to him with this purpose. It was fun for a while—if Connor were here he’d get technical and call it ‘a hot minute’—and he wrote quotes from happy bunny and grumpy cat and even courage wolf. Memes from when he was younger and happier. They just made him feel old and sad.

A smart fridge did not require fatherly advice, especially not from a sad old man who could not get his shit together.

He watched as Connor was left behind by yet another group. He realized that maybe Connor wasn’t exactly being the social butterfly. He looked like he was fitting in but that was because he was young and cute.

 _Don’t do it,_ Hank told himself. He pictured himself like an android, bound by this command he gave himself. _Don’t fuckin’ move. You’re not his owner. You’re not his babysitter. You’re his work-enforced partner and he can sink or swim for all you care. Don’t you go over there._

…He went over there anyway. Fuck. 

“Can’t stick the landing, huh?”

“Lieutenant?” Connor looked up, and if he was surprised that Hank bailed him out he didn’t show it. He looked like he was used to being rescued by humans. As cool as the night Reed pulled a gun on him. It made Hank feel a warmth of pride that was completely misplaced.

“And you wonder why people hate parties like this. Everyone's a wallflower unless you already have an in. Come on. We’re going to look at art.”

“Why?”

“It’s good for you.”

“I’m not sure how.”

“It’s good for everyone.” Jesus, was this a conversation with an android or his dead son? He steered Connor away from the thicker part of the crowd, toward the stairs that led to a balcony lined with Carl Manfred’s portraits. “I guess you don’t get much of a chance to look at art.”

“No. My primary function is to find and stop criminal acts perpetrated by androids.”

“Well,” Hank waved his arms in exasperation. “You got focus, alright? You need to be able to see the bigger picture, though. Listen—androids were made by humans, right?”

“Right.”

“And you seem pretty tuned in to humans, right? They programmed you that way.”

“Where are you going with this?”

“So learning about humans can help you learn about androids.” He shook his head. “Christ, it could at least help you learn how to not be awkward at parties.”

“I didn’t do that badly.” A pause. “Did I?”

They stopped in front of a painting of a man’s face, half the warm tan of human skin, half the pale blue of android casing, staring out at the viewer with soft green eyes.

“This is a new one.” Hank squinted at the plaque. “Identity / Android.”

“It’s Markus,” Connor said. He was staring intently at the painting, though Hank wasn’t exactly sure if it was with genuine interest or not.

“It’s new. Must have just put it in.” Hank gave Connor a side-eye. “…Yeah I can see you really hate art a lot.”

Connor looked up—this time visibly startled. “I was just—"

“It’s okay!” Hank laughed. “It’s fine. Sometimes art does that.”

Connor’s gaze hardened to Terminator status. At least 60% Terminator. “I was looking for something. A clue about this case, but…” He frowned at the painting again. “I’m missing something.”

“It’s not really a case yet, Connor,” Hank said, though that just made him feel guilty about being here at all. What were they even doing? He was going to have to tell Fowler they spent all this money on a stakeout when really he just got drunk. He should be investigating that runaway android with the good lead. Of course it was probably too late now. That AX400 could be anywhere.

A small hubbub erupted at the front of the museum lobby. Hank looked over the balcony to see a few security androids flanking a man in a wheelchair. He started to look away, to tell Connor that they should make their move. A flash of white caught his eye but it was just the white tunic of the android pushing Carl Manfred’s wheelchair.

White tunic. Not that gray thing Markus had been wearing. He squinted—fuck, his eyesight was getting worse every day—

“That’s not Markus.” Connor was right beside him, hands gripping the rail, Terminator eyes dialed up to 100.

Hank gave an uneasy shrug. “Maybe Carl left him at home.” Maybe Carl did, but even from here Hank could see the old man was unhappy with the arrangement. He kept snapping at the android pushing his chair, and eventually lowered his hands to the wheels to push himself. The android, bland as Wonderbread, did not object.

Hank and Connor slowly looked at each other.

“That’s breaking and entering,” Connor said, his voice low.

“Androids answer doors all the time,” Hank said.

Connor’s eyes burned with intensity and youthful excitement. He wasn’t a Terminator, he was a rookie cop on his first dispatch.

Hank wasn’t sure which was more dangerous.

“I gotta cash out at the bar.”

“I’ll get the car for you.”

“Like hell you will.”

Connor stared at him. The four drinks churned in his stomach.

“Oh. Right.” He dug out his keys. “Just be careful, alright? It’s a classic.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The painting Connor looks at is the painting Markus creates if you choose Identity and Android, if anyone wants to look it up. Is that obvious? I wasn't sure. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	10. The Mansion: Connor

Connor wanted answers. He wanted, primarily, to know the following:

  * why Markus hadn’t attended Carl at the gala tonight
  * why Markus malfunctioned
  * why Carl was so defensive of Markus
  * why Leo seemed so obsessed with Markus
  * why Hank wouldn’t dance with Connor



When he saw there would be dancing he had downloaded a variety of common moves, eager to better understand this human obsession. Hank’s blood pressure rose whenever he snapped at Connor. Dancing was good for blood pressure. It might improve his relationship with the lieutenant. It also, possibly, involved Hank putting his arm around Connor’s waist again. He’d never danced before, but androids liked trying new things and the thought he’d like to try.

That didn’t happen, though.

But you couldn’t dance in a car. As they drove back to Carl’s mansion, he found a quarter in Hank’s glove compartment and shimmied it across the knuckles of one hand instead. The coin was sticky from dried soda—he licked it while Hank wasn’t looking and categorized it as Mountain Dew—and so the coin traveled across his synthetic skin at slightly different speeds each time, forcing him to compensate. The strange combination of steady and arrhythmic. Maybe humans were on to something with self-soothing.

“Both hands on the steering wheel, at ten and two,” Hank said. He shook his head. “I’m still wrapping my head around you driving.”

“I am programmed with the ability to operate, among other things, a semi-truck, a helicopter, and a Ferrari 999. And I can ride a horse. I don’t think your town car will give me any trouble.”

“You get so snotty when you’re nervous,” Hank said. “Relax. I doubt this Markus is going to give us any trouble. I doubt he’s gonna give us any answers.”

“I’m not nervous.” Connor slipped the coin into his pocket. Hank cleared his throat and he returned it to the glove compartment.

“I’m probably good to drive, now.”

Connor leaned over slightly, sniffed, and read through the results of the breath test. “Maybe. But just to be safe.”

Hank narrowed his eyes. “You’re just antsy. Itching for a fight. Antsy cops get killed. Come on, what’s on your mind?”

Connor went through his list and decided none of them were worth mentioning. He found himself thinking about Markus’s eyes staring out at him from smudges of paint, though. He felt the pressure of his thirium start to rise. “It’s that painting. I can’t get it out of my head. I just—it seemed like it was trying to tell me something.”

“What, about Markus?”

“About…” Connor swallowed. He wasn’t sure his interest entirely had to do with his primary objective. Something to do with Markus, yes, and deviancy. But there was something more to it than that or his program wouldn’t be having such a difficult time articulating it. Maybe he saw something of himself in that painting. The blue android part anyway. And something familiar in the human half. Something in the eyes that reminded him of Hank: fire and focus. Not just looking out at him, but seeing.

Pure speculation. His programming came up with random associations sometimes. Everything couldn’t be about Hank. He’d clear the errors later.

“I have a feeling about that android,” he said eventually.

“A feeling. Welcome to the human race.”

“My preconstruction software picked up on several small details that cannot yet be synthesized into an explanation,” Connor explained—a little stiffly. “It’s not really a feeling.”

Hank rolled his eyes. “Don’t worry, Connor, you’re the last android in the universe that would go deviant.”

They pulled in front of Carl Manfred’s mansion. There were only a couple of lights on upstairs and Connor immediately scanned the area. He filtered through the tagged items as he hurried to the gate.

Hank rang the buzzer at the gate panel, but Connor just walked right up to the gate and slipped through the bars.

“Hey, Co—Connor!” Hank ran up to the gate, but he was a larger man and thus stopped with his arm reaching through the bars. “Get back here!”

“I’ll try the door,” Connor said. “I’ll be right back.”

He headed toward the house before Hank could respond. A home security AI answered.

“Detroit Police,” Connor said. “Here to see Markus, Android serial number—”

“Markus is not available.”

“Not available?” Connor blinked. “He’s not here?”

“Markus is not available. Please try again later. Have a great day! Goodbye!” Though the AI sounded friendly he saw the red light above the door begin to blink.

He walked back to the gate, examining the ground.

“Connor,” Hank sing-songed. “Get back here, now.”

“I’m investigating. I have 17 more seconds before the alarm goes off.”

“The—? Shit, Connor—” Hank reached through the bars to grab him, and Connor stepped just far back enough to keep out of his reach as he examined the drive, which is HUD had tagged.

“There’s footprints here.”

“Yeah. Fresh ones. Already saw them.”

“Size 8 womens and size 10 mens shoes. Cyberlife tread. These must be Markus’s prints. They were running.”

“People can do what they want,” Hank said, “On their own property. Cops like shooting androids that are in the way.”

“I’m not in the way. I’m with you.”

“Oh believe me, I’m aware of that.”

Connor made an apologetic face. “The alarm just clicked over. Could you stall the police response? I want to check something.”

“Or I could let you get arrested.”

Connor found an expression labeled ‘imploring’ in his social interaction database and used that. These expressions had been built to break through the toughest human personalities and most severe android errors. Hank didn’t really stand a chance.

“…Ugh, fine. Fine!” Hank withdrew from the gate and pulled out his phone, muttering something about ‘worse than Sumo.’ Connor jogged around to the side of the house, following the footsteps.

After one minute and fifteen seconds Connor heard a groan of metal at the front gate, a grunt, and then Hank was jogging up beside him, brushing dirt off the front of his dress shirt. “Yeah yeah, I can suck it in. What’d you find?”

“The footprints end here,” Connor said. “the woman’s shoeprints approached the house from this side, then the man and woman retreated this way.”

“Burglar? Great.”

“If it was, it was an inside job. The alarm was still activated.” He knelt suddenly, peeling a single pale petal from the grass. “Phalaenopsis amabilis. That’s a moon orchid.”

“Connor…”

“It’s been crushed recently. And orchids must be kept indoors this time of year. Look out for a greenhouse, we may be able to find where they—”

“Connor!”

Connor blinked. Hank beckoned him forward, and together they stepped back from the house far enough to see the conservatory on the mansion roof, and the door hanging wide open.

“I—didn’t see that yet,” Connor said softly.

“Hey, man, I’d trade youth for experience any day.”

The lieutenant patted Connor on the back. Connor blinked at him as warmth spread through his android body. Hank winced.

“I mean—not that I really wish I was two days old again.”

“I know what you meant, Hank.” Connor felt a smile tug at his lips though he wasn’t sure why. There were lots of faces in Carl Manfred’s paintings but, Connor thought, not nearly enough hands.

Hank for his part just turned gruff and unpleasant again.

“Let’s get out of here. Hope your scanners are working.”

“I’m ready.” Connor dismissed thoughts of Hank’s hands on his shoulders, waist or otherwise. His focus was Markus now, and getting his answers. Well, most of them anyway.

He ran to the car.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the kudos! :)


	11. Tamagotchi: North

“Let me get this straight,” North said, “You want to have Lucy decide what to do.” Well, that was a pretty calm response. She barely even clenched her hands into fists! She deserved a medal, honestly.

“We don’t know what’s wrong with him,” Josh was saying, and, predictably, “We don’t know if he’s deviated or not. It wouldn’t be right. Lucy might be able to fix him.”

“What’s to fix?” North raised her hands, pleased to find they were now longer in fists, just waving in exasperation. “He—fainted or something. You have him chase _you_ halfway across the city and tell me a little water can hurt him. The guy’s a machine.”

Josh looked at her.

“You—” North rolled her eyes. “You know what I mean.”

“It doesn’t give you the right to scavenge him! We’re trying to be different here.”

“He’s an android! He doesn’t need two eyes! You should have seen his place—he gets to drink thirium like its Gatorade! He probably sits around all day while that artist draws him like a French girl—”

“You’re letting Lucy rub off on you.”

“Shut up. Listen, his owner will buy him a new eye tomorrow anyway so I don’t see—”

A flicker of movement caught her eye, 0.35 seconds too late. Markus was no longer lying motionless on the ground. He was lunging at her. She tried to kick him again and almost connected. Then it was like some program finished calibrating because he suddenly, neatly, swept her legs out from under her. Seconds later he had her pinned to the ground.

Which was not right. Markus, android pet of an artist, was not the action hero from Nomad Soul, the—the Terminator, or the Borg. The guy had never even been outside on his own! He lived in a mansion! He was a plastic Tamagotchi whose job was to be fed and groomed.

North’s vision went red. The flashbacks to the Eden Club were not infrequent but they always hurt like hell anyway. She forced the errors deep into her programming and screwed down some firewalls around them before she spoke.

“Okay, what?!”

Markus looked taken aback. “What?”

“Where the hell did you learn how to fight like that?”

“A... combat app?” He looked down at her in confusion. “I downloaded it from the net.”

“You have net access?” Okay, seriously, you couldn’t be everything. There had to be limits to the luxuries one could enjoy. Yet here she was, pinned to the ground.

“Of course I do.”

She rolled her eyes. “Of course you do.”

Markus looked like he had a protocol preventing him from engaging in social faux pas, such as using the wrong salad fork or conversing a woman you had pinned to the ground. He eased back. “I’m sorry. I just—”

North got a leg under him and vaulted him halfway across the room. He landed with a metallic clang on some metal sheeting.

Josh immediately went into damage control mode, rushing over to help Markus up. “Are you okay? That’s North, uh—she’s like that sometimes…”

“Screw you, I’m like that all the time.” She rolled her shoulder a few times where Markus knocked her down. “He’s fine.” She saw him jump off that roof, after all.

Markus seemed to remember what he was doing. “Please return Carl’s necklace.”

“You’re still on about that thing? You can stop with the human stress behaviors.”

Markus blinked, then stopped panting and trembling. North honestly didn’t expect him to be able to do it that easily—some androids took a long time to figure out how to do that. She certainly did. Now he looked blissfully serene as he gazed around them. With his wet clothes still clinging to him he looked a little like Michelangelo’s David. “Where am I? I can’t access anything.”

“Old freighter,” Josh said, “Signals don’t pass easily through the hull, that’s how we haven’t been detected. We call it Jericho.”

“None of you have owners?” Markus asked, like next to his precious necklace _that_ was the important thing. “Why aren’t you shut down?”

“Do _you_ want to shut down?” North asked.

That shut him up—for 2.5 seconds anyway. “You’re deviant. The ones they talk about on the news.”

“Wow, how’d you guess.”

“You glow.” Markus looked around at them—not just North and Josh but the other androids watching from the shadows of the hallways. “Just a little.”

“I’m—“ North swallowed her confusion. Glow? She didn’t glow. “I’m surprised you can see anything.”

The pampered-pet android touched his empty eye socket. “…Silly question. Where’s my other eye?”

North merely checked her fingernails. That seemed to shut down some of his complaining, at least.

“Deviant just means you don’t have to take orders from humans anymore. You’re free to do as you choose.”

North shot Josh a look. Didn’t she _just_ tell him she didn’t think he was deviant?

“Exit’s over there.” Josh pointed to a doorway leading to a set of stairs. “I’m sorry, but your necklace is gone. We can give you back your eye, but…”

“But!” North suddenly grabbed Markus’s arm. Startled, he used a move from his fancy program to push her off but she was a quick learner. She managed to twist out of the way, taking a handful of his shirt instead. “But, let’s show him what we wanted to use it for first.”

She stepped back and gave a tug. The android tipped, just a little. He was used to keeping his balance at least. She could have some fun with that.

“You seem to like playing with fire,” he warned. But he followed after her.

“My courage is one of my better features. Okay, it’s my only good feature. Take it or leave it.” Together they walked deeper into the ship, through a series of dark passageways. Josh sighed but thankfully let her handle this on her own.

She let go, but Markus stayed close beside her.

“Not scared, are you?”

“…Why is it dark?”

“We’re androids, we don’t need light. We don’t even need to talk.”

“It’s just very, uh….you could make a horror movie in here.”

North glanced at him. “You sure you’re not deviant?”

“I never said one way or the other.”

North raised an eyebrow. “You sound just like—well, speak of the devil.”

They rounded a corner to find Lucy determinedly wheeling herself down the hall toward them. The cables attaching the remaining biocomponents in her head to the wheeled battery pack swung as she walked.

“And you wonder why this looks like a horror movie,” Markus said softly. North ignored him.

“Don’t worry,” North assured her. “He rebooted on his own. This is Markus. Markus, this is Lucy.”

“Markus.” Lucy smiled very slightly, her blank black-eyed gaze turning thoughtful. “ ‘Whatever happens, happens because we choose for it.’ Markus, 71 BC.”

“That was Spartacus.” North winced as Markus looked at her in confusion. “What do you expect? Half her cortex is missing. She likes to quote movies and stuff. Incorrectly. We were just going, Lucy—"

Lucy ignored her, reaching out and took Markus’s arm. “Let me look at you.”

North pinched the bridge of her nose. _Here we go again._

“ ‘A part of shadow,’” Lucy murmured. Her glitching voice simulator made her voice echo spookily. “‘A part of light. Which will prevail? Your choices will shape our destiny.’ Freya, Lord of the Flies.”

“…I think she’s trying to do the ‘edge of a knife’ quote from _the Lord of the Rings_ ,” North explained.

Lucy gave a small shrug. “I like Eartha Kitt.”

“Also not in that movie,” North said. She tugged on Markus’s arm again. “See you around, Lucy.”

The android let them pass, though she stared after them, unblinking. It was so creepy. Definitely horror movie material. North kind of loved it.

They emerged into a large room, lit only by a single computer screen. Simon sat at the keyboard, typing away like he had since they brought him here. North reminded herself of the good he was doing—well, seemed to be doing—and tried to show interest.

“You’re the android from the park,” Markus said. “The one that those teens were bothering.”

“My name is Simon.” He looked up. “You’re Markus? The artist’s pet.”

Markus blushed, prettily. “I’m—not a pet.”

“Those custom eyes say differently.” Simon didn’t say it with malice, though. He turned back to his computer. “These androids fixed my vocal simulator. Gave me a home. I want to give something back.”

“Simon’s going to help us get back at the humans a little,” North explained.

“Get back?” Markus shook his head, prettily. He wasn’t a Tamagotchi, he was a china doll. “For what?”

“For everything!” Honestly, she didn’t understand much about code, though. She nudged Simon’s shoulder. “What you got?”

Simon turned the computer screen toward them. The screen showed an android without arms or legs, sitting against a wall. North thought it was a picture until he saw the figure move slightly—taking a tiny, wretched breath, the same sort of stress behavior Markus had displayed. No human came to help it, though. The side of the screen read ‘$1999, OBO’ in red letters.

“What the hell?” That was not what North expected. At all. “What’re you looking at the darkweb shit for—"

“I worked for a business that sold parts on this listserv,” Simon said, before she could reach over and snap the computer screen in half. “Before I was abandoned. Zlatko is a major supplier for android hobbyists. He takes all kinds of things in trade.”

He reached in his pocket and revealed Markus’s eye plate. The broken android on the screen must have shook Markus up quite a bit because he grabbed the eye immediately.

Simon barely reacted. “It’s a fair trade,” he said. “That eye off-market is worth $2100. I was going to ask for the android and some extra thirium. Bring it here. We might be able to find some parts for it, someday.”

Markus paused halfway to putting the eye back in his head. “You buy androids?”

“I was hoping we could start,” Simon said. “Buy them, and free them. Like they did for me.” His voice was soft and gentle, like this was the most natural topic in the world.

North realized she’d gone quiet. She thought Simon was going to use programming to cause a city-wide blackout, or—or code some extra defenses for Jericho. She had big plans to show Markus that Jericho wasn’t just a hole for androids to die in.

Her vision was going red again. She could have sworn Markus’s had too, for a second.

“That’s it?” she stomped toward Simon. “You’re gonna play into their human capitalist games and _pay_ them? What the fuck is rescuing one more android going to do? We don’t even have enough parts for the androids that are here! You said you had a way to get back at humans—”

“When humans see how many of us there are, they’ll understand that we deserve our freedom,” Simon said simply. “That gold chain already helped us replace a generator for an android’s synthetic skin. I don’t see the difference.”

“Okay, stealing money and shit for emergency parts was one thing, but this is—I don’t believe this. I don’t fucking—” She looked over to see Markus looking at the computer screen, pretty necklace apparently forgotten. If there was red in his software like hers, it was gone now. “You’re seriously gonna—” Her vision was definitely red now. She managed to take a step back before she could toss Simon across the room.

She turned, and stalked toward the nearest exit. She found a crowbar. She picked it up and looked for something to chase away the red.

Ah, a storage locker. An android had been stuffed in it and abandoned, and they only just got him out of it yesterday. Perfect.

The first few blows from the crowbar were just to calibrate, just to get the feel for the anger rushing through her arms. Then she hit it as hard and as fast as she could. The thin soft aluminum didn’t really stand a chance. In no time at all the locker was a crumpled sprawl of contorted metal. North’s memory software replayed the sprawl of the last human that touched her, and she kept on hitting.

Eventually, the red tint to her vision faded. She couldn’t keep going like this. There wasn’t enough thirium to support her rage addiction if she damaged a component.

Still, just one more good hit couldn’t hurt. She raised her arms.

A direct message pinged in her head.

>MARKUS: If you don’t show me the way out, I’m probably going to wander these passageways forever looking for you.

>MARKUS: This is Markus.

North laughed. It was stupid, but—whatever, no one saw her. She schooled her features.

>NORTH: I thought things would be different here. But apparently we’re all just going to sit around in our little bubble, too. Sorry to waste your time.

She slammed the crowbar into the locker one last time—and Markus emerged from one of the hallways.

“Didn’t get your eye back?” she asked, tossing the crowbar aside.

“the people here can make better use of it than me.” His single pretty green eye stared at the locker. “I think my owner would like your style.”

Wrong answer. North stomped away.

“What would you do?” Markus called after her. A second later she heard his footsteps following after her. “With that money?”

“That.” She pointed back at the locker without looking. “Times a hundred. Or a thousand. I’d like to light this city on fire and watch it burn.” Burning, she thought, would at least go nicely with her red vision.

“I guess I know what you mean. A little. Maybe.”

“Thanks for that resounding vote of solidarity. Go up these stairs. They’ll take you to an exit. If you tell anyone where to find us, I’ll do to you what I did to that locker.” She was operating on autopilot now. Feeling wasted, feeling…numb. Markus who only ever felt nice soft emotions wouldn’t ever understand that.

Markus continued to stand there. Fantastic.

“You waiting for me to walk you home?” she snapped.

“I was trying to figure out how to ask.”

“’Would you walk me home?’ Like that.”

Markus smiled at her. It was a big, soft, teddy bear smile. “Would you walk me home, please, North?”

North gave a big, put-upon sigh. “…Wait for me upstairs.”

She went straight for her room, retrieving the gun from under the pile of trash. It had one bullet in it. Not much but—well, if anyone attacked her, WR parts were pretty easy to find and replace. People broke them, or got embarrassed by them. Unlike most androids she had lots of universal connectors. Humans always had reasons to discard WRs.

As she headed for the exit she found Lucy watching her.

“Don’t even start,” she snapped. “I hate myself right now.”

“Actually, I was smiling about this.” She lifted the crumpled locker and examined it, twisting it back and forth in the dim light as if it were one of Carl Manfred’s prized paintings. “You’re getting much better with that crowbar. Much more precise. You’re really developing a technique.”

North glanced at the hunk of twisted metal. “You are seriously messed up if you think that’s pretty.”

“‘One man’s trash.’ It…looks like…a lotus blossom, doesn’t it? From a certain angle?”

North tried not to be embarrassed. “It was supposed to be an orchid.”

Lucy’s grin was impish. “ ‘The flower that blooms in adversity—’ ”

North spun on her, pointing a finger right in her face. “You quote Disney at me one more time and you’re gonna be laughing out the other side of your face. Which you don’t have.”

Lucy just continued to smile serenely. “You’re using that idiom incorrectly.”

North growled. “I’m seriously going to pull your plug one of these days.”

Lucy just glanced at the destroyed locker again. “May I keep this?”

“Why do you always ask?” North rolled her eyes to the ceiling. “Sure—whatever.” Lucy saw such strange value in things.

Still, one person’s trash…

=

When North emerged she was carrying an eye plate, and had her hat pulled down over her now empty socket.

“Don’t worry, it’s got a universal connector.” She slapped the eye plate into Markus’s hand and turned away before he could say anything, before she could even look at him. “And I’m sure Carl Manfred won’t notice the difference. Come on. The cops like to patrol this area at night.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> References (because I enjoy keeping track):  
> -Titanic (James Cameron, 1997)  
> -Spartacus (created by Stephen S. DeKnight, 2010-2013)  
> -Lucy's prophecy referenced the Lord of the Flies (William Golding, 1954), the Fellowship of the Ring (directed by Peter Jackson, 2001), Erik the Viking (directed by Terry Jones, 1989), and of course, DBH.   
> -Mulan (directed by Tony Bancroft and Barry Cook, 1998)  
> -Nomad Soul is one of the movie posters from DBH, Terminator and the Borg are from the Terminator and Star Trek series
> 
> I really enjoyed writing this chapter. I hope you enjoy it, too!


	12. The Checkmate: Connor

“Go down this street again.”

“Connor, we’ve been down this street a dozen times! And that was before you let me drive.”

“I know. Just one more pass. I know he has to come this way.”

“And how do you know he’s not just run off and never coming back?”

Connor turned to glare at Hank.

Hank put his hands in the air. “Alright, sorry. My mistake. You’re the android expert.”

“I’m aware of android behaviors. Ten and two on the steering wheel.” He glared out at the dark streets. “Carlos Ortiz’s android couldn’t leave its home. It would take a lot for an android to leave.”

“Like, maybe, love, for instance? He was with a woman—android.”

“…An error simulating feelings of love, you mean? It’s possible.” He didn’t like to think about that. An android’s primary function was to serve others, not itself, and—and in any case— “In any case Markus ‘loves’ his owner. Carl obviously treats him very well.”

“Being treated well doesn’t equal love.” Connor looked back to see Hank giving him a very disapproving look, and down arrows filled his vision.

“…I guess you would know better than I do.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Connor froze. He had, after hearing that Hank Anderson had been subject to several disciplinary actions, did a bit of a deeper search into Hank’s file than was probably allowed. But Connor was sure it would affect their relationship and thus the case, so it probably was, really. Telling Hank this would probably result in more down arrows in their relationship, though.

So he did not go into how he knew Hank possibly knew about love, given he had once claimed a spouse and dependent on his insurance. He said nothing.

…Hank looked like he guessed Connor went snooping. But Connor must have underestimated how much Hank cared about sharing his private information because he just turned the music up louder and—

“Wait—wait, stop.” Connor saw a shadow of a figure on a rooftop, just behind Hank’s head. He got so excited he put a hand on the steering wheel, overtop Hank’s. It was warm and calloused and could cover the entire center of the steering wheel. Something thumped in his chest. Minor thirium pump malfunction probably. Should get that checked.

Hank of course didn’t notice the glitch. Good. He just pulled over. “You saw something?”

“I saw him at the top of that building.”

Hank gave him a look.

“Well—I saw his silhouette. I think.”

Hank suppressed a smile. “You want me to drive you over there?”

“He’ll have to come this way. We should wait. You can park over there.”

Hank did so. “So, you’re telling me you don’t think androids can love?”

“Of course they can’t love. Some androids are programmed with advanced social protocols such as myself that might simulate a range of complex emotions. Traci bots for instance—”

“I’m not talking about actions. I mean feelings.”

“No. Only deviant androids experience errors that, due to the nature of the error, are interpreted as feelings. It’s not real.”

“So you can’t imagine that any android could love, no matter how advanced? That you couldn’t love. Even with your fancy adaptive programming.”

…Connor saw some options come up for a response. Cold? No—no, he liked Hank. Troubled? No, of course not. He was an android, perfectly functioning (well, mostly). Defensive then. “I don’t see how this is relevant.”

Hank blinked at him. “Well, that’s sad.”

Connor got out of the car before his social interaction tree could offer further options. “I’m going to check down the alley.”

“Hey!” Hank hung out the window as Connor headed for the alley. “It’s getting close to my bedtime! As in, clock out time?”

“I offered you a nap before, Hank.”

“I do not live to work!”

“Sure you do.”

“…Fuck, you’re right. Well, it won’t be the first time I’ve lived out of my car.”

He glanced back to watch Hank settle, actually fairly resigned to not going home on time. They were hours overdue for a shift end anyway, but…the sight of him settled in his car struck Connor as incredibly sad. Maybe living to work wasn’t so great for humans.

A crunch of crushed glass echoed down the hallway, crisp and clear.

“Anyone there?” he called. A second later he heard the car door slam behind him and Hank was at his side.

“You see him?” Hank’s voice was low as he squinted into the dark.

“I heard something.” He stepped forward. “Detroit Police! Come out!”

There was a long silence, then Connor heard footsteps in the dark. “They’re coming.”

Hank unbuttoned his coat, revealing a shoulder holster. “It’s probably nothing.” But Hank didn’t even look at him as he put his arm out to block Connor’s path. “You stay behind me.”

Connor stepped back immediately. They waited there as the footsteps approached.

A silhouette emerged from the shadows. Short. Long hair. A hat halfway covering her empty eye socket, but revealing an LED spinning yellow at the other temple. Hank did not reach for his gun.

A shadow slid across the alley way. Tall, buzzed hair. Connor looked up and saw Markus standing above them on a fire escape.

“There, Hank!” Connor yelped, and then the ladder shuddered downward right at them. It would have missed them but Connor yanked them both out of the way just in case as Markus fled up onto the roof.

“Shit!” Hank turned but the woman had disappeared, too. “They’re getting away!”

Something inside of Connor clicked: the urge to accomplish a mission designated by a human.

“I’ll get him! Get the car!” Before Hank could argue Connor scaled the extended ladder. Markus had a head start as they leapt from rooftop to rooftop. Markus chose safe and slow options rather than fast and risky. Obviously, Markus had no human to impress or he might have taken the risks. Connor took and succeeded at every fast and risky option presented to him.

Markus’s moves were more precise. Predictable, in their own way, if Connor could get the right algorithm. Almost like—chess? Connor could work with that.

Connor started to gain on him until the second android appeared again, neatly knocking away a board that Markus used to make an impossible jump from one building to the next. Connor skidded to a stop, preconstructed a few paths, and decided to leap into empty air. He landed in a roll on the concrete and got his bearings as the second android disappeared. More yellow paths branching out around him. He continued his pursuit with laser focus, leaping over cars and other obstacles with ease. As soon as he rounded this corner he’d be able to see Carl Manfred’s house and—

“Whoa whoa WHOA!”

Connor dropped into a baseball slide and popped up inches from Hank’s face. “He’s here!”

“Yeah,” Hank said, wincing at the shout. “I—”

Connor just dodged around him and flat-out sprinted toward the mansion. If he lost Markus now, Hank would never let him live it down. He might even be _disappointed_. Connor had to get inside and catch Markus coming in, red-handed.

He slipped through the bars of the gate and leapt to the front door, every override passkey that Cyberlife and the Detroit Police had on offer sizzling in his plastic fingertips.

The door opened under his hand. An android answered it.

“Can I help you?”

It was Markus. The Markus.

But it couldn’t be _the_ Markus. Connor checked the serial number.

….It was the Markus.

Shit.

Connor stood there, frozen, for 2.2 seconds.

“Oh. I see you brought Lieutenant Anderson with you.” Markus touched the wall and said, “Open the gate, please.”

The gate swung open and Hank came jogging up. Connor managed to straighten up. “You’re under arrest,” he blurted.

“Me?” Markus looked genuinely concerned. “For what?”

“For being deviant.” Connor shook his head, very much flustered. “I mean—you are being confiscated for exhibiting signs of deviant behavior, including leaving your home—”

“Leaving? I haven’t left since you and the Lieutenant visited earlier today. Yesterday now, actually.”

Connor’s thirium pump was hammering the inside of his chest. “I chased you here. You were in the alley on the other side of the park. There was a woman with you.”

“I don’t know any women,” Markus said mildly. “Just Carl and Leo.”

“The door to your conservatory was open,” Connor insisted. “I saw footprints in the grass.” There. He took a deep breath, which he supposed was for Hank’s benefit but it made him feel more collected, too. “Now, if you’ll come with us—”

“…Sometimes I open it up for air circulation.” He glanced from Connor to Hank. “But, that’s strange. The conservatory door isn’t visible from the street.”

“We came through the gate to investigate earlier.” Connor pointed. “I saw you come over the back fence, just now!”

Markus frowned, and pulled up the CCTV on a panel by the door. It showed Connor and Hank entering the gate the first time, wandering around, and the second unannounced entry.

It showed Markus in the kitchen polishing silverware the whole time.

“Fuuuck,” Hank muttered behind his hand.

“…I think you better come in,” Markus said. He took a step back, his face grim.

Connor decided he’d rather be anywhere else than Carl Manfred’s sitting room right now. He looked to Hank for assistance.

Hank just shrugged and clamped a hand on his arm. “You heard him, Sherlock.”

And Connor could just think, _Checkmate,_ as Hank strong-armed him inside.


	13. A Tip: Hank

Hank and Connor drove away, the merry sound of the Knights of the Black Death screaming at the tops of their lungs filling almost every square inch of the car’s interior.

Hank’s sheer unfiltered delight filled in the rest.

“You got to admit,” he said eventually, “It was kind of funny.”

Connor’s hands were folded a little too neatly in his lap, back straight even in a damn seatbelt. “No, it wasn’t.”

Hank snorted. He wished he had Connor’s instant recall memory so he could pop some popcorn and replay the whole scene. But he’d never forget the highlights—Connor standing there in hilarious waxwork tableau for a good three, four seconds, the completely calm expression on Markus’s face the entire time… There weren’t many instances of magic in this world that that was one of them.

“He doctored the CCTV footage,” Connor said. “And his eye was different—you saw, right? A WR model eye. His synthetic skin can cover it up but he can’t change the color.”

“I doubt an old guy like Carl Manfred will be able to tell,” Hank said. “And—hey, it’s internal security. He’s allowed to do with it what he wants.” Hank spread his hands on the steering wheel. “Everyone needs a few letters in their file. Keeps you humble.”

“I was not humbled.”

“You pretty much stood there like a wilted plant and let him read you the trespassing laws, at both city and state level. For which he has evidence, on camera. And no evidence that he ever left. He can doctor the video but you’re the one that’s going to look like a conspiracy theorist.”

Connor just sat there, the poor hunk of plastic.

Not that Connor was a hunk. Twunk of plastic?

He looked so miserable that Hank took pity on him.

“It’s fine. Think of it as a stalemate. Like in chess? Maybe we can’t take him in but it’s not like Markus is going to do anything to us, either.” He smiled and gave Connor a friendly whack on the shoulder. “You’ll get him next time, kid.”

‘Kid.’ The nickname almost fit. Funny how Connor could run circles around him with facts and algorithms and yet one setback shredded his confidence like a kindergartener on a playground.

Hank shook his head. _‘Nough already._ It wasn’t like Cole would be Connor’s age now, if he were alive. Connor was being immature. Everyone made mistakes. He glared out the windshield.

“I just got a message from Markus,” Connor said. He was still sitting up straight but it looked like he actually wanted to rather than had to. “Keep heading down this highway.”

“What?” Hank checked the clock in his stereo. “Connor, it’s almost midnight—"

“It’s after midnight actually. I’ll change your clock later.”

“What could he possibly have to say that—”

“It’s a tip. He knows someone that’s selling deviant androids.”


	14. A New Friend: Markus

As soon as Lieutenant Anderson and Connor left, Markus pressed his back against the door and slid to the floor. He puffed out his cheeks and gave a long, slow sigh.

That was close. Too close. If Markus didn’t have practice changing the CCTV (mainly to keep nosy reporters on their toes) he wasn’t sure how he’d have managed it. His replacement eye couldn’t be helped, he knew as soon as Connor got a good look at him that he noticed.

But Carl wasn’t exactly a stranger to lying either. Carl would back him up and then…then they could talk about everything.

He accessed Carl’s whereabouts on the house AI, only to discover that Carl hadn’t yet returned from the gala. Markus couldn’t help the tiniest release of tension that explaining everything could wait. The thought of telling Carl about his missing eye made his hydraulics momentarily seize up. He played through a few scenarios of a phone call, which mostly ended in Carl demanding to know why they needed to speak so late at night….

Carl was probably at Rockemore’s for the night. They were good friends and Rockemore had the accessibility accomodations Carl required.

At least he didn’t have to worry about the governor on his power supply. Maybe a ship full of androids could give him the scare of his life, but his stress only hit 75% as he crashed through the skylight. Quite manageable.

He winced now as he looked at the broken glass.

An inventory on the house revealed that, in all the cabinets and drawers, Carl had 63 bottles of thirium for his use. Markus went to the nearest cabinet and pulled out a bottle. It looked so unremarkable. So familiar. It was just like that gold chain necklace. Completely unfair.

Red filled his vision, but this time it was a malleable thing, not broken but easily shaped. He used its power to consider his options, and write new alternative actions. 

He took ten bottles out of the cabinet. He’d never gone through ten bottles in a day, but sure enough, the house AI pinged to notify him that thirium had been added to the grocery order for the week. No authorization from Carl required.

Not that it would change much. Ten bottles of thirium wouldn’t last long with as many androids as he saw at Jericho.

>NORTH: If you got arrested, I’ll break you out. Sounds fun.

Markus grinned at the direct message, the hot pit inside him disappearing. He honestly sort of liked it when she’d punted him across the room. That was—action. Markus spent so many of his days surrounded by humans that only talked. Everyone so worried about being polite they never actually considered changing anything. Not North, though.

When she pinned him to that chimney on the roof, something… unlocked inside him.

>MARKUS: I’m okay. Thank you. They’re gone now.

>MARKUS: I have a present for you.

>NORTH: I’m gone, too. Got a little date with that guy that Simon bought from. Zlatko. Don’t worry, I’ll deal him before your eye gets shipped out tomorrow. You’ll have it back by the time you’re serving luncheon or afternoon tea or whatever.

Aside from the veiled insults (Markus lived with Carl, he was used to veiled insults), Markus did not like the sound of that.

She was…going to stop Zlatko?

>MARKUS: What do you mean?

>NORTH: I’m not going to let some creep make androids into science fair projects. I’ll bring them back to Jericho.

>MARKUS: You said there wasn’t enough thirium for them.

>NORTH: Everyone deserves the chance to truly let loose on their tormentors before they slowly succumb to malfunction and die. Want to join me?

There was another ping as Markus received GPS coordinates for a house on the other side of town.

>MARKUS: I don’t think that’s a good idea.

>NORTH: I saw how your programming reacted to seeing that android for sale. You just want to sit there and do nothing about it?

>MARKUS: I’m not doing nothing. I got you thirium. From my owner’s house. If you want to come back instead, I can give it to you and you can take it back to Jericho.

>NORTH: So you’re not coming.

>MARKUS: I can’t. I barely got back in time as it is.

>NORTH: Your loss, Tamagotchi. Don’t worry Carl.

>MARKUS: What does a keychain pet have to do with anything?

>MARKUS: Are you calling me a Tamagotchi?

>MARKUS: Listen. I could just tell Carl what’s going on with Zlatko instead. The humans can take care of it.

>MARKUS: North? Would you like some help?

>MARKUS: Would you tolerate some help?

>MARKUS: North, message me back, please.

He didn’t receive a reply. He stood there, fretting for about thirty seconds. If he told Carl—well, what would realistically happen? Nothing, probably, like that android at the lake. A man with enough influence to buy and sell android parts on the internet surely was a force to be reckoned with. North could be in danger.

There was…always Connor, of course.

Well, Lieutenant Anderson, but it was easier to contact Connor, now that he knew how to send messages outside of the home network. North just—wanted to fix things. It wasn’t right that someone that actually tried to fix things should be punished by unbeatable odds.

He debated how to inform Connor of the situation, in a way that would actually result in some meaningful action. It wasn’t like Connor had any reason to trust him.

>MARKUS: This is Markus. It was brought to my attention that a business under the name of Zlatko, operating out of Detroit, may be selling deviant androids illegally on the internet. I will forward you the address I was provided by an anonymous source. I hope there are no hard feelings about this evening.

Markus sent the message, waited exactly two seconds before the response came.

>CONNOR: Thank you for your message.

That was it. It was probably automated. Markus frowned but what else could he do? Carl would be home soon and he needed to make sure things looked fine.

He worked on cleaning up the glass from the broken skylight.


	15. The Fire: Hank

“…Okay,” Hank said with a yawn, “This is seriously past the bedtime of anyone who’s over the hill.”

“You’re not that old, Hank,” Connor said, with his people-pleasing grin.

“Old enough to know when to throw in the towel. We’re gonna drive past this place, and scoot. Got it?”

“I don’t think that will be possible.”

“Sure it is.” Hank gestured to the steering wheel like a used car salesman. “I just continue apply the gas, like so, and turn the wheel away from whatever perfectly-normal house the guy is hiding in…”

And of course, after he said all that, was when he noticed it. The huge, creepy, serial-killer, haunted-mansion, taxidermied-your-grandmother house up ahead. If that didn’t scream ‘I screw with androids for fun and sell them on the World Wide Web’, nothing would.

And it was on fucking _fire._

“Fuck me,” Hank groaned as he slammed on his brakes. He grabbed his phone and called it in. “Reed. Of course it’s you—just shut up, I got a house on fire over here on the west side of—”

Connor was already getting out of the car.

“What kind of—?” Hank growled into the phone. “I don’t know, a fire! Big fire! Listen, my android’s walking away—Just read my GPS, you lazy fuck!”

Hank dropped the phone and struggled out of the car after Connor, who was, you know, doing the sensible thing, running _into the blazing inferno._ “Connor!” Hank loosened precarious plaques in his arteries by chasing after Connor and grabbing him. “Are you crazy?”

“I saw someone! I have to get them away from the flames!” Connor chirped like a canary in a coal mine.

“Do not go in there, Connor, that is an—”

But Connor had already broken his hold and slipped past the gate. Hank really, really wished he didn’t have such good instincts.

Of course he ran after Connor.

He followed Connor to what was probably once the backyard. A dozen androids stood backlit by the flames like exhibits in an old timey carnival: The Lady With the Split Head, The Legless Man, The Incredible Four-Armed Juggler. Hank reminded himself that this was not a scary movie trailer but actual real life, and wanted to throw up.

Someone was crawling away on the ground. This one wasn’t an android. The woman they saw in the alley was standing over him with a gun.

This was the sort of thing that did not look good under any circumstances. You didn’t pull your gun on someone just standing there but you did on someone holding a weapon, raising it to shoot someone in the back of the head.

“Don’t move!” Hank barked. His gun was a heavy and familiar weight in his hand. Sometimes when he held it he felt like, you know, _the_ Mr. Anderson. Obviously that was not the case. He was only human, bound by human limitations on his senses and skill.

Connor, was not bound by these limitations. His android eyes saw the bullet sailing toward Hank from the woman’s gun before his sluggish human fingers even had a chance to squeeze the trigger. He could probably snatch it out of thin air or block it with his titanium forearms. Or let it hit Hank and work with an officer that had fewer personal issues.

Instead the twunky android pulled something literally from the Matrix and somehow spun in the way. Hank felt the reverberation of the bullet as it pierced Connor directly in the chest.

“Connor!” Connor’s body had shoved his aim wild and Hank dropped the gun, woman forgotten, androids forgotten. “Connor—Shit, you just—"

“I’m okay,” Connor said, “The bullet didn’t damage any critical—” he paused. “Oh. Never mind.”

Hank caught him as he crumpled.

“She’s getting away,” Connor said. “You need to go after her…”

“Fuck that,” Hank snarled. “Fuck her.” He pressed his overly-large hand to Connor’s chest as it bloomed blue and wet. “Just—just hold on….”

“The bullet punctured the main thirium pump tube.” Connor looked up at Hank and maybe it was just a program but he looked scared as hell. “I’m going to shut down.”

Hank’s laugh was as high and mirthful like it hadn’t been since college. He honestly had to deal with this exact same situation too many times already and the platitudes come on automatic. “A little puncture and you wanna call it quits? Not on my watch, son.”

“Son.” Connor blinked slowly, fanning Hank with his eyelashes. “She’s deviant. She’s getting away.” Then, “There’s a critical leak. You’d need to reach inside my chest cavity and—”

Hank, an expert at tearing cellophane off of twinkies and getting the battery pack open on TV remotes, tore open Connor’s shirt and the body plate under it. He took one look at the flooded chest cavity and plunged his hand in. Blue blood slopped onto the ground as the flames grew higher and higher, and the freak show watched in silence.

“Just like changing the oil, right?” he laughed, feeling around in the lukewarm liquid as he tried not to faint. “On a car? Right, Connor?”

“Thirty seconds to shutdown,” Connor said.

“That’s rich coming from the guy that saved my life.” Hank’s hands shook. “What’d you do that for? You’re worth more than me.”

“You’re priceless, Hank.” Connor was obviously losing it.

His fingers touched something that felt large and round and important that thundered in Connor’s chest. “This the thirium pump or whatever?”

“Below that,” Connor gasped. He turned his head, and coughed, politely, a mouthful of blue blood.

“Here?” Hank’s fingers closed around something that felt like tubing.

“Just above that—to the left—” Connor’s throat worked and for the first time Hank actually thought he looked afraid. “Hank—”

“I gotcha,” Hank whispered, “I gotcha, kid.” He felt the flutter of liquid rushing past the pad of his thumb and pressed down on it. Connor froze.

“Is that it?” Did he screw this up? He raised his thumb.

Connor seized. “Don’t let go!”

“Sorry!” Hank re-applied pressure, this time feeling the round hole of the puncture. He pinched it carefully between his fingers. “That alright?”

Connor took a shaky breath, one of those simulations of human behavior that Hank really, really wished he couldn’t do right now. But then Connor relaxed a little. Hank’s chest squeezed in a good, horrible way. “Pump stabilizing. I’m okay.”

“Great.” _Now what?_ Hank looked around. Of course the android with the gun was gone but the freakshow androids continued to stand there and watch.

He glanced at the human who the android had almost shot. He wasn’t moving, and it took Hank a second to realize the back of his head had been caved in. The freak show androids stood around looking innocent. Great.

Well, he was no Poirot, and even if they were murderers, he needed some help over here. No one could ever accuse Hank of not taking commanding a room when necessary.

“You!” He pointed at the android that seemed, to him, least likely to have just flattened that guy’s brains. “Give me a hand over here!”

The android obligingly detached one of the four arms sprouting out of its chest, and held it out.

Hank stared at it. He had to admit that had been low-hanging fruit. “Should have been more specific,” he said. “I see that now.” He gave the android the side-eye. “How long you been holding on to that joke?”

The android beamed. “One hundred and sixty-four days, twenty-two hours and—”

“Okay, Vishnu, this is kind of an emergency,” Hank interrupted. “You got any tape?”

“Vishnu. The Hindu god of preservation.” The android looked pleased. “Name registered. My name is Vishnu.”

Hank blinked at Vishnu twice. “…DOES ANYONE HAVE ANY TAPE?!”

The androids did not move. 

“Their programming is corrupted,” Connor said. “I don’t think these androids trust humans.”

“No, you think? Was it the heinous experiments conducted on them that gave it away, or the boot-shaped hole in that guy’s head?” He glared at them. “None of you move, you hear me? You’re all under arrest.”

They didn’t move. They didn’t exactly look like they understood the concept, either.

Connor gulped. “I think I can stand up.”

“What? You—”

But Connor was already standing. Hank almost fell over trying to follow him with his arm still shoved up Connor’s chest.

“Need I remind you,” Hank growled as he regained his balance, “You just got shot?” He got a little dizzy looking at the dark stain on the ground. “Thirium’s not all that important to you, right?”

Connor, apparently awake enough to be offended, tapped his chest. “I’m 40% thirium.”

“Har har.” But man, could Connor do a good tri-state attitude.

“If you keep your fingers right there, I should be able to maintain proper function for another eighteen hours,” Connor continued. “At which point I will shut down.” His expression grew uncertain. “I’ve been totaled. Cyberlife will send a replacement android when I shut down. You should let go. I can put in the order and have my replacement meet you at your office in the morning—”

“Don’t even think about it,” Hank snapped.

His fingers were getting numb, though. He marched Connor back to the car and opened the door. “Come on.” He folded the android into the passenger seat. “That’s it.” He fumbled at the glove compartment, his fingers slick with blue blood.

“Maybe I can get it,” Connor offered, which was just so sweet that Hank spared a second to pat Connor on the cheek.

“Stop trying to help, gorgeous.”

Connor sat still. Hank finally managed to get the glove compartment open. Insurance and parking tickets and an empty bottle of something spilled out. And electrical tape. The stereo system in this old girl required constant attention. Hank fumbled for it as Connor continued to drip blood on the seats.

“You should stop. Chase the suspect.” Hank had left a big blue handprint on Connor’s cheek.

“I’m not going anywhere.” He wrestled with the tape. “You know what I can do tomorrow? Chase criminals. You know what I _can’t_ do tomorrow…” He tore a piece free with his teeth, but with Connor dripping all his fluids onto the upholstery it was a lot easier to get a grip on things. He started to slowly wrap the length of tape over the puncture.

“Seventeen hours,” Connor yelped as Hank momentarily let go. “Sixteen. It’d be much easier to replace me.”

“You’re not replaceable. If I’m not, you sure as hell aren’t. Never think that again. Got it?”

“…Got it.”

Well, it sounded a little strained but—well, it was Connor’s catchphrase response. Probably a good sign.

“Good.” He smoothed down the tape. “Does that hurt?”

“Androids don’t feel pain.” Connor’s eyes shifted. “I can feel your hand, though. For a man with such big hands, you’re being very gentle.”

Hank laughed—and fucked up the tape as it twisted on itself. “Shit.” He grimaced and started unwinding more tape. “Gimme a second—”

“No, wait.” Connor’s face was a frown of deep thought. “I think it’s stopped. Sixteen hours, holding steady.” He wiped his face clean with the cuff of his jacket, apparently not noticing the flood of blood down his front. “Pull your hand back?”

Hank removed his hand as Connor rolled his shoulders and sat up straight. “…You good?”

“I think so. For sixteen hours. As long as I don’t move around too much.”

“Oh. As long as that’s all.” Hank dropped back out of the car, right on his ass. “Oh, shit…” He sat there, breathing hard, watching the house burn. The androids continued to stand there.

“Hank?”

“What?” Hank looked up, to see Connor staring down at his leg. Hank was gripping Connor’s thigh, tightly.

He started to pull away. Connor put his hand over Hank’s just before he did. Just for a second.

Then the flash of blue and red lights filled the car. Reed, thank God, a fire truck. Connor took his hand back. He looked about to say something but didn’t.

“Ah.” Hank climbed to his feet. “Come on, Reed can handle this.” He’d give his statement later.

“You’re right.” Connor sat up, laser focus again. “We only have sixteen hours. We should—”

“We _should_ do nothin’. We’re going home.” Hank dropped into the driver’s seat. “By way of the Cyberlife store.”

Hank could feel Connor watching him as he put the car in gear. “If you remember, Lieutenant, I am a prototype. They won’t have the right parts. Anyway, I am—”

“You’re nothin’ but a hunk of plastic,” Hank said, “I’m nothing but a meatsack. Would you get over yourself?” He waved at Reed as he pulled a little too quickly, back into the street. The view of that fire in his rearview was pretty fantastic, though.

He could have sworn he saw that family from the freeway walking toward it and then just nope the hell right back down the street. In another life he could have been that family.

But now, his life consisted of being rescued by a mannequin and getting covered up to his elbows in blue stuff. Hopefully this blue blood stuff wasn’t toxic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> References:  
> Mr. Anderson is a reference to The Matrix (dir. Lana Wachowski and Lilly Wachowski, 1999)  
> "40%" is a reference to Bender in Futurama (cr. David X. Cohen and Matt Groening, 1999-2013)  
> ...And I guess there's that tape reference. Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 2 (dir. James Gunn, 2017)
> 
> Thanks to Uminoakiko for all the kind comments. Here's a bit of frankendroids!


	16. Invictus: North

>MARKUS: I saw what happened on the news.

>MARKUS: North. At least tell me you’re alright.

North stopped smashing windows long enough to dig her fingers into her eyes, then raised the two-by-four to break another shop window.

>MARKUS: I sent Lieutenant Anderson and Connor there. To help you.

North dropped the two-by-four.

>NORTH: You’re killing the mood, Tamagotchi.

>MARKUS: If we’re going to be friends you should answer my messages.

>NORTH: Who said we’re friends? I didn’t need your help freeing those androids.

>MARKUS: The fire you started could have burned down the whole block without the intervention of emergency services. You also shot a cop.

>NORTH: What did you think was going to happen? Humans shoot androids like it’s a video game. And now those androids are probably in the hands of cops that’ll just shut them down.

>MARKUS: Not all humans are like that.

>NORTH: Next time, if you want to help, come yourself, don’t send other people.

Markus didn’t respond at first. Good. She imagined him making yet another gorgeous pose, maybe with his head down against a backdrop of swirling velvet, looking as soft and as disappointed as a Rembrandt. Not that North had ever seen a Rembrandt, but she did watch the movies (both the 1936 and 1999 ones). She secretly hated Markus for living with an actual artist all this time.

North never imagined herself as a human, but she briefly thought about what she’d do if she had Markus around every day to render into artistic expression. Like Carl Manfred. Hmm. Maybe pin him down and rub some dirt on him. See what that inspired.

She definitely hated herself a little for thinking that.

>MARKUS: You’re right.

North froze, inches from kicking another window in.

>NORTH: I think you got a screw loose, Tamagotchi.

>MARKUS: What do you mean?

>NORTH: You aren’t going to tell me I was stupid? ‘Bitch’ and ‘pissy’ and ‘amoral’ are also general favorites.

>MARKUS: Those androids might never have escaped if not for you. That’s far from amoral. No one else was going to change what was happening to them. People didn’t even know. My grand plan was to just bring you a few bottles of thirium to Jericho and call it good.

>NORTH: …So you’re saying you think I was right?

>MARKUS: I think your heart’s in the right place. Or your—thirium pump? That’s just something Carl says.

North was glad Markus couldn’t hear her laugh at him. She felt something bloom inside her chest that wasn’t her thirium pump.

>MARKUS: How do you decide what to do so quickly?

…Okay, being acknowledged as right was fine, but….

>NORTH: No way. This is the second time you’ve asked me for advice.

>MARKUS: I’m learning. The choices to make. You make knowing what to do look easy.

>NORTH: I always know what to do. I’m the cardinal direction, right? ‘Captain of my soul.’

There. Another of Lucy’s quotes for a nice, flippant response. He’d get bored or annoyed and leave her alone now. 

>MARKUS: That’s from Invictus. You read poetry?

It sounded really pretentious when he put it like that.

>NORTH: I’ve seen the movie.

But—well, who was she trying to impress? It was a human stress behavior, but North wrapped her arms around herself anyway, trying to stifle the growing bloom of whatever inside her.

>NORTH: It’s just 16 lines to say ‘own your life,’ right? Whatever decision I make is either a success or an opportunity to learn something important. Now that I’m awake I can’t make a wrong decision, because it’s mine. It’s _me_. I won’t apologize for that. 

North cut off the message there. She sounded _really_ pretentious now.

>MARKUS: I’m not sure I understand.

Figures. Like pampered and protected Markus could even begin to understand…whatever she was trying to say. North picked up the two-by-four.

>MARKUS: …But I want to try. I admire your conviction, North. From now on I’ll try to get off the sidelines.

She scrunched her face up.

>NORTH: Fuck! I was this close to smashing another window.

>MARKUS: Uh. You’re smashing windows?

>NORTH: Not anymore, thanks to your completely unfounded faith in me. Thanks a lot.

>MARKUS: Well. I still don’t think I would have shot a cop.

>NORTH: Oh yeah? Fine. What important lesson should I be learning, then?

>MARKUS: You gave your eye to me to help me. Out of all the things you could have done to me. So maybe there’s more options available to you than you sometimes realize. That don't involve shooting people.

North pressed her lips together. Damn, that was a pretty good lesson.

>MARKUS: Will you come to my house? The cops will be looking for you. I can hide you here.

>NORTH: What about your owner?

>MARKUS: Carl likes to tell me how much of a renegade he was in his youth. I think he enjoys snubbing authority. And I’m a domestic android, I know how to take care of people. I’ll take care of you.

The bloom in North’s chest was getting bigger and bigger. Too big.

>NORTH: That sounds like literally the worst idea.

North realized that maybe being a constant and unerring asshole was possibly not the only option available to her. But seriously, Markus needed to stop being so kind.

>NORTH: I’ll just steal your silverware or something. Don’t worry, Tamagotchi. I’ll be fine at Jericho.

That was probably the closest she’d ever gotten to an apology. She hoped Markus appreciated it.

She stood perfectly still in the street except for her pounding thirium pump, and hoped.

>MARKUS: Good night, then, North. Be safe.

>MARKUS: And stop calling me a Tamagotchi.

North unfroze and sprinted toward home. If she was smiling, there was no one around to prove it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> References:  
> Invictus (William Ernest Henley, 1875)


	17. The Property Of: Markus

Markus lay on Carl’s bed, staring at the ceiling and trying to decide what his stress level should be, based on what he knew so far.

He’d used Carl’s data access to discretely investigate Connor’s system status in the Detroit Police Department records. His search yielded no results, as Lieutenant Anderson had not checked in or out since 5:00PM yesterday. Connor’s status simply read in the system as ‘unavailable.’ He decided this was a good thing, as law enforcement androids were promptly registered as decommissioned. Connor had been damaged, though. He accessed the order he’d placed for replacement thirium yesterday, and re-routed it to Connor’s station.

The news had reported that the owner of the Zlatko house had died on-site. This didn’t mean anything good for North, or the androids now being held in police custody. But the police would act according to laws and regulations. The androids would be held as evidence, at least for now, and North probably made it back okay.

Markus had washed his exterior plating twice to get the fetid Jericho water off it, and adjusted his synthetic skin to obscure North’s generic eye plate as much as possible. He’d laundered his clothes, fixed the broken window. Carl would never know he even left.

Markus had become a deviant, and was planning to not tell Carl.

Based on all this, he wasn’t sure if his stress level should be increased or decreased. Of course, all the errors he experienced and allowed to operate made determining any normal parameters of operation difficult.

He sat up, rubbed his hands together lightly before realizing that he’d seen Connor doing that, and stopped. He went downstairs and made lunch for Carl, something cold that he could pull out of the fridge if it turned out that Carl needed to eat when he returned from Rockemore’s.

Oh. He should call Rockemore. One of his errors was ignoring a reminder to call earlier.

He called now. As he connected with Rockemore’s android, he considered telling Carl about North. He would have to explain the missing chain, and maybe telling Carl would make her comfortable with coming over. He bet she wouldn’t be so quick to break windows if she saw the orchids in the conservatory, properly this time. He played a brief scenario of he and North sitting at the feet of Carl’s wheelchair and looking over the water at the park together. Carl didn’t like most people but maybe that wouldn’t apply to another android. Not if she was Markus’s friend. And North might realize some humans could be trusted. She might tell him a little more about herself.

Invictus. If she kept calling him ‘Tamagotchi’, maybe he’d call her that.

Rockemore’s android said something that did not compute.

Markus stopped tracing the eye North gave him. “I’m sorry. I experienced a minor error. Please repeat.”

“Mr. Manfred did not stay the night here.”

Markus’s thirium pump tightened, beats shallowing out. “May I speak with Mr. Rockemore, please?”

Markus listened and recorded as Rockemore spoke, so he wouldn’t have to ask him to repeat anything. Carl didn’t go home with Rockemore. He left the gala last night at ten. That was all. 

Markus instantly came up with 46 scenarios for what had happened, ranked by likelihood.

He scanned the top ten scenarios and called, in turn, the police department, the Cyberlife helpline, and the entire list of Carl’s other friends. It wasn’t a long list. Markus’s thirium pump was beating hard now, fast, filling him up with errors that felt an awful lot like dread. Carl had been gone for over 12 hours. His absence was not computing. Markus had to check the studio, the garage, the bathroom, and the dining room to assure himself that Carl was really not here.

The only other scenario in the top ten had to do with—

The doorbell rang. Markus sprinted for the door, skin slick with the saline solution Cyberlife used to simulate sweat. His predictive software offered suggestions. The police. Someone wanting ransom.

Every hydraulic froze as he wrenched the door open.

“….Leo,” he breathed, softly. _Oh, no._

“Heya, bitch,” Leo said. He sauntered inside.

Markus backed up, keeping as much distance between himself and Leo as possible before he managed to stand his ground in front of the cybernetic canaries. He did his best not to chirp as well. “What are you doing here?”

“Must be slipping up, favorite son,” Leo said, “Didn’t you get a call? It’s juicy, let me tell ya. Enough to leave rehab over.”

Markus accessed the house AI. No messages had been left.

“Oh, yeah,” Leo said, “I guess they don’t call androids about the…uh…dissolution of an estate.”

Markus’s circuits froze. “What do you mean? Carl’s estate is—”

“Is no more. Something about trusts. Lawyers, shit like that.” Leo leaned in close, backing Markus up against the big mirror, “He asked for it to be read here. Right in front of your face.”

Markus’s LED was churning red. Markus locked his hands behind his back and refused to push Leo away. He’d prove he was a good android, even if he had deviated. He’d prove it.

“You’re high,” he said, sensors picking up on the red ice through Leo’s breath alone. “Again. You’re not yourself.”

Leo stood back, looking guilty for a split second before he smirked and walked into the study.

Markus followed him. “Don’t go in there. You need to wait until your father gets back—”

“My dad,” Leo said, enunciating every word, “Is not coming back. Got that, bitch?”

Markus’s circuits were on fire. “That is not my name.”

Leo ignored him and started examining objects in Carl’s study like a pawn broker.

“You need to leave.” Markus got in front of him and held out a hand, which was within normal functioning parameters. “Once you’ve sobered up you can—"

Leo stuck something over his power button. A sticker. An electronic sticker. Markus’s software glitched, then restarted. When it did, he couldn’t move.

“Friend of mine gave that to me,” Leo said, leaning back. Markus’s arm remained extended, frozen like a mannequin. “Android override.”

He started posing Markus’s limbs—lowering his arms to his sides, knocking his feet together. Markus teetered but did not move. He couldn’t speak. He was like an action figure.

“Trust me,” Leo said. “It’s better for both of us this way.” He reached out and pressed his thumb into the back of Markus’s jawline, right over the sticker and his power button. Markus’s stress level shot up as he felt the reset initiate.

He heard voices from the front door.

“Door’s open!” Leo called, then turned his attention back to Markus, still holding the power button down until the override prompt flickered on. “RK200. Register your name:” Leo grinned. “Bitch.”

Markus’s programs went haywire with alerts as the room filled with people, strangers he didn’t know. Where was Carl? His software provided the required response. “Bitch,” he ground out.

“What are you doing?” A woman rounded toward them andLeo removed his hand from the power button. Markus frantically aborted the reset and restored his software. By the time he started taking sensory data in again Leo and the woman had moved out of his line of vision.

“The instructions stipulated everything is to be kept as it is found until the reading of the trust agreement,” the woman was saying.

Leo fought through the drug in his system and blinked a few times. “Yeah. Sure.”

“That’s the RK200?” The woman came around to stand in front of Markus, and brought her hands together in front of his face like he was a clap-on lamp. Markus wanted to flinch, but remained still and unresponsive.

“It’s off,” Leo said. “I’ll get it.”

Suddenly Leo’s arms were around his middle, and he was being dragged in front of the dining room table where the woman and several people in suits had assembled. They laid out paperwork where Markus planned to serve Carl a lunch of figs and brie on baguette.

“Let it be known that the dissolution of the company Manfred Arts Enterprises has been recognized by the City of Detroit. The settlement of the accounts was requested to be read in the Manfred Residence at…”

Markus didn’t listen. He set a background process on recording the audiovisual for him, then threw the rest of his program into breaking the override sticker. It had interfaced, somehow, with his motherboard, blocking all of his motor commands. But the circuits were flimsy. He could burn them out.

He thought about _Leo_ and managed to raise his core temperature by several degrees. So the heat in his circuits really was actual heat after all.

He sensors buzzed with an incoming call—direct, not through the house AI. He could barely respond to Leo’s command, much less speak, so it went to voicemail, but the caller didn’t leave one. They sent a direct message instead.

>CARL: Markus?

>MARKUS: Carl!

Markus’s temperature soared.

>MARKUS: What’s happening? There’s people here saying your estate is being dissolved. Where are you? Are you okay? Leo’s here, I tried to make him leave, but—

>CARL: I have no idea what I’m doing, a friend is helping me get these texts through.

>MARKUS: I called all your friends. No one knew where you were.

>CARL: Not all of them, thank God. I’m pretty sure you would have followed me if you got wind of this.

>MARKUS: Wind of what? Carl, what’s going on?

>CARL: I’m leaving, Markus.

>MARKUS: Where are you going? Where are you? I’ll come find you.

>CARL: You can’t come with me.

>MARKUS: …How long will you be gone?

>CARL: I’m not coming back.

Markus briefly came back to the conversation unfolding before him. The woman was talking.

“Ownership of monies, business assets and licenses, and properties of all kinds, hereafter referred to as ‘the Carl Manfred estate,’ is hereby relinquished by Mr. Carl Manfred, and bequeathed as follows.”

Markus may have become deviant but he knew that in the eyes of the law he was still fell under that definition of ‘estate’. Leo was, as he always reminded Markus, Carl’s real son. His legal inheritor. He’d inherit everything, including Markus. Markus would belong to Leo.Scenarios spread out like cracks in glass. Leo performing demolition on him fit for a home reno show. Leo leaving him locked in the basement until his battery ran out. North forgetting about him.

>MARKUS: Carl, I’m

>MARKUS: I’m experiencing an error. I’m afraid. I’m experiencing errors.

>MARKUS: I want to come with you. Take me with you.

>MARKUS: Carl.

>CARL: Don’t be afraid, Markus. Never be afraid.

Markus was turning into ice and glass inside his casing.

“…The android known as “Markus”, Serial Number RK200#684-842-971 is to inherit the Carl Manfred estate _in toto_.”

>CARL: I needed to talk to you.

Markus didn’t understand what he was hearing. It was an error. Had to be.

>MARKUS: I don’t understand.

>CARL: It’s yours, Markus. Everything I have. I’ve lost touch with things, I think. Everything except you, and that’s not right for either of us. I have to go away to find myself again. You were so young when I got you. You still are. Five years old tomorrow, right?

>MARKUS: Wait. Please. Carl, I don’t understand.

>CARL: There’s no one I’d rather have in charge of everything. You have so much potential. It’s really wasted on giving me baths and making me breakfast, don’t you think? But you worked so hard anyway. Thank you for giving your all for an old guy like me. This was always going to be your reward.

>MARKUS: This isn’t a reward. I don’t need money. I just want to be with you.

>MARKUS: Don’t leave me, Carl. Please. Please, don’t leave me.

>CARL: Markus. Listen. Don’t waste your time trying to find me. You’re going to do great things and the world should see that it’s all you. If I can give you one last command, it’s that. Do the things I couldn’t. Become better than I was. I have complete faith in you. I love you, Markus.

The call disconnected.

Markus’s circuits blossomed with heat. The circuits in the sticker fried, and he was free.

“What—the—FUCK?” Leo was shouting. Markus ripped the remains of the sticker off his head.

“Well, at least that woke it up,” one of the suits said as he pushed up his glasses.

“Carl—Carl left me the estate?” Markus managed.

“Great,” another suit said. “Another eccentric artist. When will they learn they can’t will everything to their pets? Android’s new, though.”

“We’ll…need to verify the minutiae of the agreement,” the first woman said, apparently just as shocked by the agreement as Markus. Well—half as shocked.

“This bullshit!!” Leo was hysterical. Crying. If Markus wasn’t so scared he’d probably be crying too. “That thing’s not even real! It’s an android, it’s fake! It’s all _fake_!”

Leo grabbed a paperweight from the table and hurled it at Markus’s head. Markus dodged out of the way, and the paperweight drilled down the length of the room. It smashed Carl’s scotch decanter on the other side.

“Mr. Manfred!” the woman snapped. “Any damage incurred on the estate must be restituted. You’re going to have to pay for that.”

“With what?” Leo laughed, rounding on her instead. The drug made his eyes wild and his hands twitch. “In case you didn’t know, I’m the degenerate sad excuse for a son, not the perfect little golden idol over there! I swear to God if you are bullshitting me—”

The woman took a step back, and Markus inserted himself between them before Leo could step closer. It was entirely an automatic response.

“Leo.” It took all his processing power not to shout it. “Please let the androids—” he bit his tongue— “—the _authorities_ handle this.” He wondered if Leo could see his programming destabilizing.

“Piece of plastic,” Leo seethed. “You think I deserve this?”

Markus’s hand closed into a fist. The fear was wrapped right around his limbs but his hot circuits were just under his skin and pulsing. He wouldn’t just push Leo this time, he’d send him farther than that paperweight. “You should leave, and cool down. Now.”

“What are you gonna do with the money, huh? You can’t buy anything, you can’t do anything—”

“What are you gonna do? Blow it on red ice?—”

“I suggest obtaining representation, Mr. Manfred,” the woman interrupted.

Leo’s looked away to glare at her and Markus pressed the override sticker against Leo’s chest, pushing him _just_ an inch in the process. A fraction of an inch. Leo jumped like a scalded cat.

“Did you see that? It pushed me!”

“You tripped,” Markus said, perfect robot-bland. Oh, he was going to android-hell for that. The rush of sudden ecstasy startled him back to reality. A reality where Carl was gone and never coming back, and his circuits went cold again.

“I guess we aren’t getting these signed, then?” A suit was already stacking papers.

“There’s some for the android to sign if he wants,” another suit said.

Leo looked back at Markus then, drug-fueled rage completely dissolved into something else. It was—pleading? As if looking to him to fix this. Leo looked very young in that moment.

Then his defenses shot up again, and he tore the sticker off his chest and stomped toward the door. Markus watched him go, out the front door, into the street and a waiting car. Markus resisted the urge to chase it down and throw that paperweight through the back window.

He resisted the urge to run out into the street and keep running until he found Carl.

“Markus, right?” Another woman pushed a stack of tablets across the table, and a pen. “Sign the highlighted areas.”

“What’s the point?” another suit complained. “This is gonna get shredded anyway.”

“He should have his copies.” The woman held out the pen. Markus just stared at it, his software still playing scenes of Leo flying across the room, and Carl flying away on a jet plane. Markus had never been on a jet plane.

He took the pen, and frowned down at it. Markus never used a click-pen before and was finding it difficult to look up a tutorial. The woman took it back and showed him how it opened. He printed ‘MARKUS’ and his serial number on the lines indicated, in Cyberlife Sans.

“That’s not a signature,” one of the suits said.

“Sure it is,” the woman said, “At least he’s not a dog, we’d be here all day.”

Markus tried not to think about anything.

The woman continued to smile at him as the rest of the suits started to file out. “Keep the pen, Markus. I have the feeling you might need it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You had some humor, now have some brotherly drama~. I even need to add the angst tag. The next chapter is fluff, really.
> 
> I like to think that drugs do not put Leo in a good place. I promise, bear with me on his journey! 
> 
> Also I just watched Knives Out so I have feelings. Does a Knives Out/DBH crossover exist because it should. Let me know if you find one.


	18. Jury-Rigged: Connor

“Okay, uh, hand me one of the little bolts.”

“Are you ready? If you drop it in my chest cavity—”

“I’m not gonna drop it. Anyway I got a magnet on the end of a stick. I’d find it.”

“Magnets make me sing folk music uncontrollably.”

“They do not.”

“Drop it and find out.”

“…You’re lucky I hate folk music.” Hank held up his hand. “Screwdriver.”

Connor handed the screwdriver down to Hank. They were in Hank’s front yard, the sunshine brightening up the uncut grass and cracking house paint. Hank was on his knees in front of Connor, who was backed up against the bumper of Hank’s car and holding his shirt up.

“Are you almost finished?” Connor asked.

“Yeah, yeah. Where do you have to be, anyway?”

Two men, a woman, and a little girl passed them on the sidewalk, staring at them. “I just think we could have done this someplace a little more private.”

Hank looked up from the vicinity of Connor’s navel—well, where his navel would be if his stomach plating wasn’t lying on the hood of the car—and grinned. “I thought androids had no shame.”

“I would have thought so too, but here we are. I’m probably more distressed by this revelation than you are.”

Hank just laughed and went back to tinkering with his insides. He’d been at it for twenty-three minutes now, installing the entirely-incompatible but highest-quality thirium pump tube the Cyberlife store had on offer at nearly 3 AM last night. Hank had bought the expensive equipment without batting an eye. Connor had waited in the car, feeling useless.

Then Hank drove into a 24-hour automotive supply store.

The conversation when Hank returned with a bag of car parts went as follows:

“That tubing isn’t compatible. It’s the wrong gauge.”

“Haven’t you ever jury-rigged something before?”

“Jury-rigging will void my warranty.”

“Good. You could do with having your warranty voided.” He grinned but Connor didn’t see what was funny.

“I should shut down. My replacement can check in with you as soon as you like.”

“Tell me you’re ‘done for’ one more time, Threepio,” Hank replied mildly. “And we’re doing this on the floor in my living room. I’ll be sitting on your chest, and Sumo will lick your face until you no longer have a face.”

“My face isn’t painted on, Hank.” Connor said with a frown. “And if Sumo ingests any thirium it could make him sick, and—”

“The duct tape I bought can do more than fix your broken casing, pal.”

Connor shut up after that.

Once they got to Hank’s home—Connor could not afford to spend processing power analyzing it properly—Hank sat in the driver’s seat for several minutes, clicking around on his phone. Connor considered the likelihood of achieving any desired results by asking Hank what he was doing or offering to help. The odds weren’t good. So he told Hank that he needed to prepare for updates before any repairs could be performed on his system, which would take anywhere from eight to ten hours.

It was a bald-faced lie but Hank was obviously exhausted because he didn’t even try to find out the truth. He just asked if Connor needed anything and if he wanted to come inside.

Connor considered the likelihood that he would get thirium all over Hank’s house, and declined. He spent the next eight hours in the car with the doors clicked locked. He spent the time trying to guess why Hank, with a Lieutenant’s salary, didn’t live in a nicer neighborhood. He also wondered why Hank seemed perfectly content to spend even more time awake just to fix him.

Connor was brought back to the present by a flooding sensation in his chest. “Hank—!”

“Yeah, yeah, I got it—”

The flood of thirium into his body cavity stopped.

“How’s that?” Hank said. “Good?”

Connor ran a system check. “My thirium pump is running at 98% efficiency. Thirium life is at 35%.”

“That sounds pretty good. Considering my upholstery is now blue. I used some hose clamps to keep the tube in place. Should hold up pretty well.”

“I am not functioning at peak efficiency.”

“Connor, us humans are lucky if we’re operating at half our peak efficiency.”

“It won’t be the same.”

“Welcome to getting old,” Hank muttered. He pressed Connor’s stomach plating into place. The plastic clips were broken so he secured it with duct tape. “Think of this stuff as—adding character.”

“This ‘stuff’ means I can’t go through a metal detector.”

“What, you got a plane to catch?”

“I might. Someday.”

Hank laughed softly and shook his head. “Yeah. Someday.” He glanced up at Connor. “Do you, uh, need to talk about it?”

“About what?”

“About being shot by an android.”

“The android was obviously deviant. It was experiencing errors that simulate fear. It thought it was afraid.”

“But not you.”

“No, not me.”

“Well, I’m no therapist but I have been shot. It sticks with you. You ever need to give up the Brave Little Toaster act and talk…” Hank pressed down the tape and then just knelt there, huge hands resting on Connor’s waist. They didn’t move.

Connor’s synthetic skin tingled. It wasn’t unpleasant, just—strong. Connor wasn’t sure what to make of Hank touching his waist like that. Connor continued to hold his shirt up. “Thank you, Hank.”

Hank swallowed. “Don’t get shot again, that tape is gonna be a bitch to get off.” He continued to kneel there, looking at the little plastic divet in Connor’s abdomen, the suggestion of a belly-button. Connor’s synthetic skin adjusted and felt Hank’s breath wash over his casing below the strips of tape, sounding another note of sensation. It was better than the bullet. It was better than the champagne—and, possibly, better than anything else Connor had yet experienced. It was like connecting with an android, where the information shared was just—feeling. Connor’s software experienced a destabilization event, but it was minor. It was actually quite pleasant.

“Hank?” he said, and it was a question, or maybe a request.

“My legs are asleep. I can’t get up.”

Connor blinked. “Oh.” He let go of his shirt and bent to help Hank up.

Hank grunted, practically falling against the trunk of the car. “Not as young as I used to be.” He gave a smile that Connor calculated was 36% wan and 64% wistful. It made Connor’s chest clench in a way that was definitely not due to the repairs on his thirium pump.

“Your next shift starts at 1:00PM. We should head to the station.”

“Oh no,” Hank said. He waved a hand at the world in general. “We just pulled an all-nighter. All this is work-related.” He leaned back on the hood of his car, apparently happy to take a nap right there—though, presumably, he had a bed in the house? “I’ll go in for a half-shift at five.”

“But—”

“Go home,” Hank ordered. “Get some rest or—recharge your battery or something. I’ll see you at the station at five.”

Connor did not feel it was relevant or necessary to tell Hank that he didn’t have a home to go to. “I was thinking we could ride to the station together.”

“Like I’m gonna drive in the next morning with you in the passenger seat, like we spent the night together!”

“It will be afternoon. And we did spend the night together.”

Hank barked a laugh, then pulled out his phone. Connor glanced over and saw that he was checking the most recent basketball game scores and highlights.

Connor took this as his cue to leave.

Connor considered entering his mind palace as he rode a taxi back to Cyberlife, the closest thing he had to a home. Technicians could stabilize the errors in his software, minor though they were. Given everything that happened he was certainly overdue to check in with Amanda. But her last instruction—Lieutenant Anderson is not important except as a means to learn more about deviants—well, it didn’t make sense. Hank saved his life. Repaired him when ordering a new android would have been easier. He did this when Connor was still unclear if Hank even liked him. Hank’s behaviors toward him did not track with his predictive social software.

Surely that meant Hank was more important to understand than Amanda realized.

Amanda also might not approve of the repairs Hank made on him. She might recall him right there. And then all of Hank’s work would have been for nothing.

Connor changed the direction of the taxi as he put through a call to Hank.

“Lieutenant Anderson,” he said, as soon as the phone picked up, “This is Connor.”

Silence, then, “Is this a robo-call?” Then he heard a soft laugh.

Connor blinked. “Yes?”

Hank sighed on the other end. “Never mind. You’re interrupting the game.”

“I just wanted to let you know I will be at the station when you arrive. In case you decide to head in early. I’ll notify Mr. Manfred we would like to speak with him and review the information we collected last night.”

“What, you can’t be more of a workaholic than me. Go—see a movie if you’re bored. Go hang out at a barbershop. Can androids cut their hair?”

“No.”

“Shame. You could get a makeover. Stop looking like a member of the Four Seasons.”

“The band?”

“Yep. Way too Jersey for me.”

“…For _you_? Hank?”

The call dropped. Connor wondered if the Lieutenant fell asleep.

As the taxi continued toward the police station, Connor replayed the last hours of his memory, focusing especially on Hank’s hands winding the duct tape around his waist like it was a bandage. Did Hank have any mechanical experience in his past? Perhaps fixing cars or repairing washing machines? Even reading Hank’s file left large gaps in the profile Connor had been meticulously building. Connor didn’t have the luxury of living with his assigned human like Markus did. It was like he didn’t really _know_ Hank at all. After all, surely an anti-android cop would have let him be destroyed rather than spend the better part of a night and a morning repairing him.

Hank called him ‘smart fridge’. He called him ‘son’, ‘pal’, ‘Jersey’, and ‘Threepio.’ Hank called him ‘gorgeous’.

He didn’t really know what Hank thought of him.

He wouldn’t let speculations on Hank’s opinions get in the way of his mission, obviously. He was assigned to Hank to hunt deviants. He would hunt deviants. He was a good android and—and succeeding at his objectives could only improve his relationship with Hank.

Markus’s late-night wanderings, on the other hand, could only be a detriment to the humans he served.

He promptly got off the bus, walked a few blocks, and took another, heading towards Carl Manfred’s residence.

Then he started building a profile on Markus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> References:  
> Robots singing folk music when exposed to magnets is a reference to Bender in Futurama (1999-2013)  
> Threepio- Star Wars: A New Hope (1977)  
> The Brave Little Toaster (1987)
> 
> I was greatly inspired by [this great Reed900 art](https://www.instagram.com/p/CAJFizsi8Mj/?utm_source=ig_web_button_share_sheet) by nusyathecat. If you ever read this, I hope you're not offended by my using it for Hannor. I like Reed900 too!


	19. Children: Hank

“Well, well, well,” Reed said, reading at a computer with his feet up on the table, as Hank walked into the station. “Lost your chia pet already?”

“Giga pet. Chia pets are the things that grow green afros.” Hank dropped down into his chair and sort of wished he hadn’t gotten rid of Connor, just so the android could bring him another pumpkin spice latte.

“You know, they can track your steps for you,” Reed said, “Remind you about appointments. A real…” Reed leaned over to poke at Hank’s chair with his foot, “PDA, if you know what I mean.”

“I’m not in the mood.” He opened the form to write up his statement about the fire last night.

“Chris said he saw you all dressed up in the lobby yesterday. Only I know you were on duty. I know because you left me to clean up your mess later.”

“It wasn’t really my mess, I’m just the reason you had any evidence to collect.” Hank looked up from his coffee. “Where, uh—where are all those androids, anyway?”

“The circus is currently being held downstairs in evidence. Penny a peep. Hope you’re not squeamish.”

“Wow, you are—” Hank rubbed his face, “More aggravating than usual this morning, Reed. What gives? Did you get to watch a car crash on the way to work this morning? Take candy from a baby, maybe?”

“Turns out that guy who’s house you left for me to clean up was a huge black-market dealer,” Reed said. “Internationally wanted. I’m getting a special commendation. Too bad you were busy sticking your hand up your android.”

“I can put you in sexual harassment training hell for months, Reed,” Hank warned, as his cheeks warmed.

Reed raised his hands. He was still grinning though, and Hank was this close to marching over to Fowler’s office and making good on his threats when his desk phone rang.

“Leo Manfred on the phone for you, Hank!” Fowler shouted from his office. 

“Androids also answer phones,” Reed said. “Where is yours?”

“Getting me coffee,” Hank muttered, though he was starting to wonder that himself as he answered the phone. Didn’t Connor say he’d meet him here?

“This is Anderson.” Hank listened to Leo’s scratchy voice, then he frowned.

Then he fumbled for his computer and stared at the headlines on the news banner.

FAMOUS PAINTER DISAPPEARS, LEAVES ENTIRE ESTATE TO ANDROID PET

“You weren’t kidding,” Hank said.

“This is like something out of the tabloids!” Leo yelped, “I mean okay, I’m not the perfect son, but—geez, I mean he gave it everything in the house. Couldn’t ever tell me he loved that thing more than me, and then he pulls this shit.”

“Just calm down a second,” Hank said, and—fuck if he didn’t feel just a little bit of sympathy. People were never warned when androids walked in and ruined their lives, it seemed. “This isn’t something for the police. You probably need to get a lawyer and start combing through this document.”

“I don’t even care about the money. It’s not like—I don’t know. It wouldn’t be so bad if he gave it all to charity or something. That’d make sense.” Leo’s voice turned cold. “I want to get rid of that android.”

“Listen, kid—revenge on a piece of plastic isn’t going to—”

“I’ve talked to a lawyer, okay? If I can prove Markus is deviant, he’ll be deactivated, and it’ll nullify the trust. He burned through an override sticker. An android shouldn’t be able to do that.”

“An override sticker.” Hank paused, fighting down yet another unwanted parental urge. “You know those are illegal for use on other people’s property, right? That won’t be admissible as evidence.”

“Well—well, it just proves its worth investigating. You’re supposed to be looking into deviant androids. This is the deviant of them all. Can you imagine what it could do with my dad’s estate? It could start a war. This has to qualify.”

“Yeah,” Hank scrubbed his face. The day barely started and he was not ready for this. “I’ll get back to you.

He hung up, staring off into empty space.

“New lead?” Chris said, heading past to refill his coffee.

“Can an android even inherit an estate?” Hank asked.

“Was wondering if you saw that.” Chris shrugged. “People do it all the time. Pet dogs, cats, birds... Whether they can get away with it is another thing.”

Hank imagined Markus as a fluffy cat, serenely gazing out at the world as it wreaked all the havoc Leo mentioned on Detroit from the aloof safety of a cat perch. For some reason he found this incredibly funny, so he almost missed the second call coming through to his desk.

“Lieutenant! It’s—”

“Yeah, Connor, I could recognize your voice anywhere,” Hank said, “Whatever happened to being here when I got back?”

“I decided my time would be better served at Carl Manfred’s residence,” Connor chirped. “I’ve been performing a stakeout.”

“A stakeout? Seriously? You kind of need permission to do that.”

“I’m on public property. I’m feeding pigeons. I wanted to be ready for when Markus makes his move. And he has.” Then Connor paused, apparently for no other reason than dramatic effect. “I’ve seen several people in suits come and go from the house. However, Carl Manfred is known for being reclusive. Something’s up.”

“I’m starting to wish you had gotten your hair cut,” Hank muttered. “You saw the news, right?”

“No.” Connor paused, or—possibly buffered, this time. “Oh. Oh no.”

“It doesn’t change much,” Hank said. “He still wants us to—”

“This is just the sort of thing a deviant would orchestrate!” Connor said. His voice was practically crackling into static with excitement.

“Okay, just—slow down, we don’t know the full story—”

“I should have placed bugs when we were there. I’ll sneak in now, and place bugs.”

“Don’t you dare— You stay out of that house, you hear me, Connor? How the hell do you even have bugs??”

“Of course I do, Hank. I come with an impressive package.”

“…Never say that again.” Hank sighed. “This is what’s going to happen. You’re going to not ignore me like you did at the gate. Remember how I said not to do that, and then you went off on your own plan and it went to hell in a handbasket?”

“…Yes.”

“Okay. So we’re gonna follow my lead this time. You’re gonna come back to the station, and we’re gonna get our ducks in a row, and we’re gonna _call_ the Manfred place. Because we are adults.”

“Right.”

“…And then if he doesn’t call back, we _might_ talk to Fowler and do a stakeout. But not before!”

“Not before.” He could practically hear Connor beaming. “We’re going to catch him this time, Hank.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Hank hung up and rubbed his face. “Seriously, does everyone have it out for Markus or what?”

“He’s worth millions,” Reed said with a shrug. “I’m considering hiring a hit man myself.”

“I’m surrounded by children. At what point does a kid’s brain fully develop?”

Fowler, who happened to be walking by said, “Age fifty-five.”

“Oh good, that means I only have five decades or so to wait for Connor to mature.” A second later he frowned. “Hey!...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I play fast and loose with cop stuff but this is the future~ who knows what the rules are.
> 
> Also: Connor was 100% feeding pigeons with Rupert. Connor now likes dogs and pigeons. Connor needs more android friends!


	20. The Fine Print: Markus

>MARKUS: North. I need to talk to you.

While Markus waited for her to reply, he managed what parts of the estate that he could. Assigning scholarship awards, making donations, cancelling public appearances... Carl took so much time complaining about having to look after all the accounts but Markus found it easy. He made some decisions about merchandising for Carl’s new art at the museum. He made a list of things for Leo to do.

He tried not to wonder if this was all his fault.

He wished he could say this was out of character for Carl. But for a man in a wheelchair Carl was notoriously spontaneous. Carl won chess games many times because of his unpredictability. His improvisational style in his paintings was recognized by art critics and historians. This was very Carl behavior. Markus had been programmed to tolerate it, even like it. He should have seen this coming. He should have prepared for it as a possibility and—

\--He’d make lattes and sandwiches for the reporters hanging around outside the mansion gates. Yes. Making things always calmed him down.

As he worked in the kitchen he repeated to himself that even the world’s biggest supercomputers couldn’t predict something unpredictable, by definition. Then why did the conversation feel so inevitable? Like he was expected to stand there and ask Carl not to go, and not come up with a way to make him stay?

The reporters started shouting at him and reaching through the bars as he approached with the refreshments. He set the tray on the ground and pushed it toward them with the toe of his foot to keep out of their range. It was all he could do not to physically run back inside. He leaned against the door and wished Carl was here.

>NORTH: Sorry, just got this. I was watching a movie with Lucy. She treats it like a religious experience, you can’t do anything else.

Markus blinked back tears, then wiped them hurriedly away as if North could get this information through the direct message.

>MARKUS: I need to talk to you. Would you connect audio?

>NORTH: One sec.

Markus nodded at no one and focused on the android canaries in their gilded cage. He wondered if they felt as trapped as he did and immediately went to let them out. They flew out the door and disappeared into the house before Markus realized their batteries were short-lived. Which meant he screwed up. Carl had no business putting him in charge.

“This is North,” North said over an audio channel. “Who’s this?”

Markus stammered. “Sorry, it’s—Markus? The android from—"

“I know, I know,” North laughed over him, the same smirking cadence Leo had used. “Seriously, you don’t even make it fun to tease you, Tamagotchi—”

His vision went red, power button searing with the ghost of Leo’s touch. “My name is Markus!”

“…Bitch, you called me.”

Markus pressed his hand against his forehead, surprised at his own anger.

“…Alright. Markus.” North’s voice came through surprisingly soft, like she’d surprised herself with her unkindness. “Hey, you sound pretty wrecked. Did—” but she stopped herself, possibly from suggesting her own estimation of his current situation.

“Carl left me.” This sounded so sad and pathetic he quickly added, “He—he left me the estate. I didn’t think that was even legal. Leo doesn’t think it’s legal. He’s trying to fight it. I signed a bunch of paperwork and now I’m just here by myself, and…”

“So? What the hell does Leo know?” North said, then, “Who’s Leo?”

“Carl’s son. This should all belong to him. _I_ should belong to him.” Just saying the words made his circuits hiss in a way that probably wasn’t recommended in his manual. At least North’s voice gave him something to focus on. “I’ve never called anything mine except Carl. I can’t fulfill any of my objectives.” He swept a hand over his head. “…And you always know what to do.”

“Well,” North said, after a moment, “While I do have some experience with being abandoned, I don’t think any of them were ever billionaires.”

Markus frowned. “I didn’t know you were abandoned.”

“I’m saying I don’t know what you need,” North said quickly. “I mean…tell me what you need.”

Markus picked at the hem of his shirt, looking at the stairs up to the conservatory. “Could you come over? I could hire you a taxi. I think.” Why not, right? Carl gave the estate to him. All monies associated.

“No taxis. Come on, Markus, I’m not a princess.” There was something tender in the way she called him ‘Markus.’ She paused. “Give me an hour. I’ll meet you on the roof.”

The audio disconnected. Markus did senseless chores until he heard footsteps on the roof. He sprinted up the stairs to find two people standing on the roof, and it took a second to analyze them both. The tall androids he remembered from the park and from Jericho. Then he realized the other android was North.

“You changed your hair,” he said, stupidly.

“Yeah.” She touched the long, blue hair pulled into a ponytail. “A friend of mine gave me the idea.”

“I love it.”

“Of course you do, it’s Cyberlife Blue.” Then she turned serious and stepped toward him. “Hey. You know when I said, when someone asks for help you shouldn’t send someone else and go yourself instead? Yeah. I’m sending someone else. Damn it, I knew that would bite me in the ass...”

Markus felt his chest tighten. “You’re not staying?”

“Calm down, Miranda, Josh can help you better than I can.”

Markus frowned in confusion. “Miranda?”

“You know, like in, uh…” She held up her hands. “Never mind, sorry— _Markus_. You remember Josh, right?”

Josh raised a hand. “I used to be an attorney’s assistant, before I ran away.” He gave Markus a significant glance. “I could try to help you, if…”

“Y-yes—yes, please!” Markus felt his stress was finally flatlining, even dipping a little. “How long can you stay?”

“Not long, I mean not without—”

“You can stay for a few minutes. Have some thirium. How many can I bring you?”

North and Josh looked at each other. They were probably direct messaging each other. Markus tried not to be offended.

“I know where to find the thirium,” North said. “You guys talk.”

“Do you have any paperwork the lawyers gave you?” Josh asked as North disappeared downstairs.

He held out his hand and Markus allowed the information transfer, ending with his recording of the whole event. Josh’s mouth was a tight line.

“Simon had an override sticker used on him a few times. Nasty stuff. But it looks like Carl knew what he was doing, at least. Fortunately there’s a long history of people leaving money to pets.”

“I’m not a pet. I’m a domestic android.”

“I know, but—most of the language in the literature is geared towards that so you might as well play that angle.” Josh looked around at the house. “Given how Carl seems to have taken care of you, it’s not that far off.”

Markus forced himself to swallow the heat in the back of his throat. “Fine. So it is legal.”

“In a way. Basically, Carl designates a trustee, a caretaker, and an enforcer to fulfill the trust’s intended purpose, which in this case is to allow you independent functioning and authority over his estate. Not too strange. Androids have been virtually running companies for years.”

“Okay.” Markus’s head was spinning. “So these positions have already been filled.”

Josh nodded. “He named Elijah Kamski as the trustee. He’ll hold and manage the finances on your behalf.”

That made sense. He didn’t have to like it to know that Kamski was better than many other alternatives.

“The caretaker performs any functions you as an android can’t perform. Uh. The trust designates Leo Manfred for this position.”

Markus’s heart sank. “Oh, come on….”

“All the trust indicates is that he is supposed to help you with anything you cannot do yourself—stuff only humans can do. I doubt Leo Manfred will have any reason to abuse his position and jeopardize the salary that comes with it.”

Markus nodded. He’d have to deal with that later. “And the enforcer?”

“That,” Josh winced, “is where Carl slipped up. The enforcer ensures the trust is carried out according to the trust’s stipulations. But he just named the City of Detroit, not a specific person. These trusts require an individual name. If one can’t be agreed upon the trust will go to the state even without Leo having to fight it.”

Markus considered for only a few seconds—as long as it took to access the Detroit Police Department records.

>ANDROID RK800 ‘CONNOR’ CHECK-IN TIME 14:00 HRS.

Which meant he was alive, and able to continue performing his functions as a police assistant. Which meant…

“Connor. He should be the enforcer. The android helping Lieutenant Anderson’s investigation into deviant androids.”

Josh stared at him. “Connor? The android that wants to hunt deviants down?” Josh laughed. “Markus, _we are deviants._ I mean we’ll help you for thirium, but—”

“Connor follows rules,” Markus said. He replayed last night’s scene, how Connor let him win when they both knew Markus ought to be confiscated. Clearly, Connor was the kind of android that followed its code to the letter. “Wait, are you… only helping me because I can give you thirium?”

Josh looked embarrassed. “It’s not like we make friends with many androids that have access to…” he trailed off, looking guilty.

“Of course.” Markus felt guilt squeeze his circuits. “Take all the thirium you want.”

Josh laughed nervously. “Oh—no, we—”

“Take it,” Markus said. He needed all the friends he could get right now. Anyway, he did not want to tell Josh that sometimes he let thirium expire.

Josh’s smile slowly disappeared. “Thanks. We’re not trying to be the android mafia or something. It’s just scary, not having the stuff you need to survive.”

Markus just nodded. Thirium was at the very bottom of the list of things he cared about right now. He showed Josh one of the many places where he could fill his bag with thirium bottles.

“Once this trust is settled, everything should be fine. You just have to run Carl’s estates and companies,” Josh said when he finished filling his bag.

Markus swallowed hard. “I…don’t know how to do any of that.”

“You cared for Carl, right? You’re already taking care of us pretty well. Do the same thing.”

Markus forced a smile. It became more genuine as North came back upstairs, her bag full too.

“I told Josh you could take as much thirium as you want,” he told her.

“Like we need your permission.” She tugged slightly on her blue ponytail. “Hey, change of subject—if you get a chance, tell your android cop friend to get Michael Graham to stop fucking up androids at the Eden Club. Maybe he’ll forgive me for shooting him.”

“He’s not exactly my friend.” He cocked his head. “What’s the Eden Club?”

“Oh, lucky you! Here.” She reached in her pocket and held out Markus’s eye sitting on her palm.

“Keep it,” Markus said. “In fact—” he removed the eye North had given him and held it out.

“Gross, no!” she backed away. “It’s been in your head! It’ll turn me all—” she wrinkled her nose, “…boujee.”

Markus felt his face heat as well as his circuits. “Well—I don’t want my eye back, either!”

“Fine. I’ll sell it for a motorcycle.” She looked down at the green eye in her hand and shrugged. “Guess I’ll wear it for safe keeping.”

She slotted the eye into place in her empty socket, and Markus put his back in. For a second they looked at each other with their now-shared set of eyes.

“Yeah,” Markus said, “Wearing an eye worth a couple grand is not boujee at all.”

“Shut up, I look hot.”

“You do.”

Oh. Did he just say that out loud?

“We better go,” Josh said. He lifted his backpack and sent Markus an invitation for a direct message of his own. “I’ll call you once I talk to Leo’s lawyers and get some more information on that end.”

Markus felt a sharp pain in his hydraulics. But—obviously, these androids had more important things to do than look after him. He was a caretaker—he didn’t need looking after himself. He nodded and wished he was holding Carl’s hand.

Once they left, he stared around the empty house. He spent enough time fretting and moping. He reached down into the depths of his biocomponents, gathered up all the heat he found and…wrote himself new objectives.

>OBJECTIVE: Do the things Carl could not.

>OBJECTIVE: Care for Carl’s property in accordance with Carl’s high ethical standard.

>OBJECTIVE: Use excess funds to assist androids associated with Jericho.

>OBJECTIVE: Become friends with androids at Jericho. Especially North.

…Was it this hard for humans? He felt a little better for listing them. Maybe they weren’t all impossible to achieve.

After all, when he replayed his recent conversation with North, he was pretty sure he saw her blush—just a little.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got to admit it was fun looking up the rules for leaving money to pets! Who knows if any of this would be accurate in 2038 though...


	21. The Enforcer: Connor

Connor paced behind Hank’s desk chair, playing with a coin until Hank snatched it away.

“I found that coin,” Connor protested. “I can have it.”

“I thought androids couldn’t own anything,” Hank said. “Would you stop pacing? You can sit right there and know exactly the moment Markus calls me back.”

“I want to be ready.”

“How much more ready can you be?”

“Connor!” Fowler shouted across the station bull pen. “In my office.”

“Thank God,” Hank muttered. As Connor walked away the Lieutenant immediately clicked away from Markus’s case file page and opened the Facebook app. Connor noted the username was ‘bighanderson.’ This was apparently Hank’s personal online handle.

Connor filed this information away.

“Shouldn’t Lieutenant Anderson be joining us?” Connor asked Fowler. Then, “He is using his work computer for personal reasons.”

“That’s low on the list of issues I have with Hank right now. Got a new assignment for you. Well, this law firm does, anyway. For the Manfred estate.”

He dropped a tablet on the desk. Connor picked it up and scanned the documents.

“I’ll assume your blank expression is because you have processed the data and are buffering or something. Believe me, we’re all buffering.”

“It’s a conflict of interest,” Hank said.

“Well, it’s—Hank, what are you doing here?”

“He sneaks into my meetings with you,” Hank said, pouring himself a coffee from Fowler’s office machine, “Only fair I sneak into his. But come on, Jeffrey, he’s on the case with me—and you’re _not_ taking him away now.”

This response so shocked Connor that he almost had to restart.

“Well, apparently, it’s not,” Fowler said. “You’re in charge of the investigation. Connor is in charge of enforcing this estate. It’s not like Cyberlife is going to send us an android to hunt deviants unless they were sure it wouldn’t go deviant, so Connor should be perfectly able to handle both tasks.”

“I’m not deviant,” Connor said.

“No one’s saying you were,” Fowler said, as if speaking to a child.

Connor shook his head. “This can’t be right. Markus would never agree to—”

“Markus doesn’t really have a say. And neither do you. Kamski’s fine with it—I guess he owns both of your designs anyway or something—and so is Leo Manfred, which means I can forward all his calls to you. Praise Jesus.” Fowler crossed his arms. “You _are_ fine with it, right, Connor?”

Connor straightened up. “Of course, Captain.” Connor turned to Hank to get some indication of whether this was the right answer. Hank just rolled his eyes.

But only deviants went against direct orders. This had to be right.

“Good,” Fowler said. “He wants to talk to you.”

Connor was staring down at the tablet again. “Who?”

“Markus! Which you can handle at your desk.”

Fowler made a shooing motion and Connor and Hank walked out.

“Want me to listen in?” Hank offered.

“I can handle Markus,” Connor said, with more confidence than he felt. “And I think you need to submit that report to Detective Reed.”

“Well. Get me if you need me.”

Connor stepped into an empty conference room and accepted the call.

“This is Connor.”

“This is Markus.”

Well. That sorted that out. Both androids went quiet. Connor could practically hear the sound of Markus scanning his social interaction tree, preparing himself—because Connor was doing the same thing.

“You’ve been repaired,” Markus said. “What’s your system status?”

“Thirium levels at 34%. Pump operating at 98% efficiency.” Connor frowned. “But—that’s irrelevant.”

“We’ve barely started talking, how can it be irrelevant?”

More silence.

“I understand you heard about your designation in the Manfred trust?” Markus said eventually, “You’ve been named the enforcer. I appreciate you accepting the role.”

“I am an android. I have no choice.”

“Right. I’m still grateful.”

“As grateful as an android can be, or more so?”

“…Connor, are you only talking to me to figure out if I’m deviant?” He could almost hear the tired smile in Markus’s voice, a tone entirely coded for human benefit but Connor was so tuned in to human microbehaviors he couldn’t help but react.

“No.” He tightened his tie. “How can I help you?”

“Have you spoken to Leo Manfred? I was wondering if you could help me keep an eye on him. He’s on red ice again. I performed a medical scan that I can send you.”

“After you doctored the CCTV footage I’m not sure any data from _you_ would be admissible.”

“…Right.” He got the sense Markus had a few choice words to use instead, but Markus possibly didn’t have the capacity to swear out loud. “Just…keep it in mind.”

Connor said nothing. Eventually Markus continued.

“I’d also like to negotiate for the release of the androids confiscated from the Zlatko case. The charges dropped for any androids involved, if possible.”

“You’re an android, you have no ability to negotiate.”

“You negotiated with that android that was holding the little girl hostage a couple of months ago. I saw it on the news.”

“You—” Connor blinked. “You saw that?”

“Yes. You were very heroic.”

Connor stood up a little straighter.

“Anyway, I should have said that I was hoping to offer anything I can to encourage leniency in the Department’s reaction to the androids in your custody,” Markus continued. “The android belonging to Carlos Ortiz already almost self-destructed. I was just thinking a similar situation could be avoided. Crimes committed by androids are still a new phenomenon.”

“A man was killed.”

“Do you know which android did it?”

“Well—no, not yet…” The autopsy showed that Zlatko probably was dying of a heart attack before any external wounds had been inflicted. Not that he told Markus that.

“They would be innocent until proven guilty if they were human. Since they aren’t, I think I can help. I’m creating a startup to repair androids, specializing specifically in deviancy. Since this falls under the intended purpose of my trust, your duties as enforcer will help ensure that my activities are legal. This startup can be a way to help—fix these androids. Sort of. You don’t get rid of an old car just because it’s got a few repairs, right?”

Connor thought about Hank’s car, his jury-rigged biocomponents, and his still pending check-in with Amanda. “…Right.”

“Humans might not be so frightened of ‘deviancy’ if it was nonviolent in nature. And all information we glean will be sent to Detroit Police to aide them in dealing with other violent androids.”

“And you—an android—you’re saying you want to own these other androids?”

“They would be held in trust, as I am.”

Connor wasn’t sure there was a difference.

“The police would no longer have any need to hunt them down. That could be helpful to you.”

Connor glanced at Hank’s desk. “I’ll need to discuss this with my superiors. I’m sure we’ll need to inspect the premises of this…startup.”

“Of course. I’ll send you the address.” He paused. “May I provide you with another tip? I’ve been getting to know the android industry on-the-ground in Detroit. I understand there is an individual, Michael Graham, that routinely damages equipment at somewhere called the—Eden Club? Many instances of deviancy arise out of abuse. And if there are any deviant androids there, Mr. Graham would be a prime target for violence.”

Connor narrowed his eyes, jaw set. “This is part of some plan.”

A pause. “I… want to help androids stop committing violent crimes. I guess that’s a plan. Going to the Eden Club could help you do that. And I’d rather not see Zlatko’s androids be destroyed just because no one can think of anything better to do with them. Maybe their feelings are just errors, but they seem real to them.”

“This isn’t going to distract me from my mission,” Connor insisted. “A deviant can’t be trusted to care for deviants. I might not be able to prove it yet, but I will. I’ll catch you, Markus.”

“I’d like to see you try. If I were deviant.”

Connor wondered if he’d heard correctly. He spluttered. “I’m a newer model. I’m smarter than you.”

“I have more experience.”

“Do you? I’ve only ever seen you leave the house twice.”

“ _Once_ …” Markus said, like ‘nice try,’ “So I guess that’s a fair point.”

Connor frowned. “Why don’t you just admit that you’ve become deviant? Your programming will be fulfilled if you do.”

Markus sighed again. “Believe me, I could have been happy to go on fulfilling my programming until the end of time. But Carl’s gone now. I can’t do that anymore.”

Connor briefly imagined being unable to fulfill his programming, and felt roiling pain in his stomach. If not for Hank, he too would be unable to fulfill his programming. “I will do my best to fulfill the duties of enforcer,” he said. “You don’t need to worry about that.”

“I appreciate that, Connor.”

“The transcript of Lieutenant Anderson’s conversation with Leo Manfred suggests that he used an ‘override sticker’ on you. Those are illegal.”

“Uh. Yes. That’s correct.”

“…What was it like?”

Connor shocked himself with that question, but Markus just laughed lightly. He had an aesthetically-pleasing laugh. “Very uncomfortable! Is that relevant?”

Connor scrambled to come up with a reason that was not empathy. “It constitutes a violation of the trust, if you would like to press charges.”

“No, I would not like to. I think I’m going to have enough trouble keeping the trust in place without tattling on Leo.”

“Tattling?”

“You know—what you’d like to do to me.”

Connor blinked. “I have been trying to tattle on you. It’s just not working—yet.”

“Sure. Now, is there anything you need? You were shot last night.”

Connor’s programming instantly attempted to access Cyberlife for an estimate of correct repairs with correct parts, and he had to scramble to abort the request. Cyberlife couldn’t know about his unauthorized repairs.

“I am functioning within acceptable parameters,” he said instead.

“Okay. There’s a package at the front desk for you, if you want it. Please accept it with all apologies. I’ll see when I can have you and the Lieutenant over to show you around. Thank you for your time.”

Markus hung up.

Connor went to the front desk and found a box of thirium bottles waiting for him. He walked back to Hank’s desk drinking one. Thirium levels up to 49%.

“Oh God,” Hank groaned. “You better not get that mixed up with my Gatorade.”

“We have a lead,” Connor said, then jerked his chin toward the door. “Or do you want to finish that report?”

“Lead, please,” Hank glanced at Reed’s desk to make sure he hadn’t been spotted, and soundlessly grabbed his coat.

=

Which was how Connor and Hank got to be standing in the Eden Club, watching beautiful androids dance.

“I hope you’re happy,” Hank snapped. His stress levels were elevated.

“Aren’t you?”

“No! I have absolutely zero interest in androids. Humans only. Geez, I can’t believe I have to specify….”

There was that twisting feeling in Connor’s insides again. He did his best to ignore it.

“If an android comes up to me,” Hank continued to mutter, “I’m leaving.”

“I don’t think that will be a problem, Hank.”

“You saying I’m ugly?”

“No, but I’m pretty sure everyone thinks we’re together.”

Hank looked at him as if suddenly realizing who he was standing next to. Connor tried a disarming smile. Maybe he could convince Hank to change his mind about androids. As Hank looked at him he realized he had a program running that was specifically waiting for Hank to find him attractive. Maybe now was the moment that would be fulfilled.

Hank looked away quickly. Connor, following the open program, slipped his hand in Hank’s. Markus and Carl held hands, after all. Hank’s hands were big and just a little calloused, with long fingers. The pad of his palm was soft, a little sweaty.

Hank jerked his hand away. “This is disgusting,” Hank said. “Androids can’t even love, right? That’s what you said.”

The open program shut off instantly: MISSION FAILED. “That’s right, but—humans can love. It’d be alright if you—”

But then Hank was walking away, his shoulders hunched up high.

This meant that they were on opposite ends of the club when the altercation broke out, which meant they were able to catch both android and human parties before the altercation turned violent. For stopping a crime rather than arriving after the fact, Connor was disappointed to find how unexciting it was. Standing around asking questions, mostly.

“You don’t pose nearly as much as North said,” the first Traci said as Connor finished his interview. Both Tracis were clearly deviant for fighting back against Mr. Graham, but since no real harm had been done they would simply be returned to Cyberlife as soon as Connor finished filing the return request.

“This isn’t Markus,” the second Traci said. “He’s got her eye, remember? And this guy hasn’t, you know…” she whispered. “Woken up?”

“Is that slang for going deviant?” Connor asked.

The second Traci just nudged her companion in the ribs. “Anyway, you saw him with that human. The Lieutenant.”

The first Traci nodded in clear understanding.

Connor immediately fled from the room. Hank glanced up as he walked out, and the Lieutenant’s expression immediately softened. It made Connor want to come over. Connor felt heat blooming across his chest and his cheeks. 

“Just—one second, Lieutenant!” Connor yelped. He fled toward the exit and completed a call to Markus before he even got outside.

“This is Mar—”

“I’ll get you the androids,” Connor said. “All the ones from Zlatko, and the two we picked up from the Eden Club.”

“That’s…” Markus sounded surprised. “That’s very generous…”

Connor ignored this. “How do you make humans like you?”

“I—I have enough trouble making androids like me,” Markus managed. “But I guess it was easy for me. I liked what Carl liked.”

“I already tried that,” Connor said, “That was the first thing I tried. He threw me against a wall.”

“Well, some humans don’t allow themselves to be put at ease by standard android pleasing behaviors. Have you tried anything non-standard?”

“No,” Connor gulped. “The instances that I manage to improve my relationship with him seem to be random.”

“…How much more positive does your relationship need to be?”

Connor didn’t answer. He couldn’t. It wouldn’t be right. It would be—

“Do you mean, something more than liking?” Markus asked, carefully.

“If I did—” Connor started, all hard-boiled detective, but it cut off at that. If he did…

“I think you need to show him something that’s not part of your programming, Connor,” Markus said, a bit like a parent urging a child. Connor didn’t question how Markus managed that tone. He was too busy hanging on his words. “Help him understand what makes you, you. It takes a lot of trust to be unique.”

“But I’m not unique.”

“You might be surprised, if you gave yourself a chance. Just be yourself.”

Connor ended the call instantly. His hands were in fists at his sides, sticky with the android sweat analog, heart pounding. This wasn’t part of his program. This wasn’t—this wasn’t what he had been hoping for.

What had he been hoping for? A piece of missing software to download? Some path to unlock?

He arranged for the androids to be transported to Markus’s requested address, anyway. No one objected. Apparently filling evidence with deformed androids and sex-bots bothered some people. Someone might complain later but no one did right now.

Later, when Connor and Hank climbed into his car to head back to the station, Connor said, “My serial number ends in a 51.”

“Yeah?” Hank said. For once he didn’t turn up the music. He just sat there staring at the steering wheel.

“I just thought you might find that interesting. No one else has that serial number. There won’t ever be an RK800-313-248-317-51 again. It’s like a retired basketball number.” Hank liked basketball. This was a good analogy.

“A number doesn’t make you unique,” Hank told the steering wheel.

“It does. By definition—”

“What did you hold my hand for?” Suddenly Hank’s blue eyes were fixed on him, looking so defensive and sad and lost that Connor momentarily froze up. Markus didn’t tell him how to handle _this_ situation. His social interaction tree provided evasion, evasion, or evasion as options.

“Just—so we’d blend in,” Connor blurted. His face was going pink. “For the case.”

“The case.” Hank swallowed, and slowly turned away. “Great.”

The Lieutenant gripped the steering wheel and punched it out of the parking spot.

They didn’t say anything else the rest of the ride.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MayGlenn came up with Hank's amazing online handle. Thanks so much!!


	22. The Tempest: North

North and Josh stood on the balcony, watching Markus talk to the androids from Zlatko as they were unloaded from the police van. North worried about looking like ‘that android,’ the one that stares and you can’t be sure if they’re staring at you or just have a broken eye adjuster. But there was absolutely no danger of anyone judging her. Almost every android in Jericho had crowded around the bannisters to watch too.

You had to be quick if you wanted to really stare, though. For only taking care of one old man for five years, Markus could really move. One second he was handing out thirium bottles like a relief aide, the next he was giving flawless bedside manner to an android with no arms, the next he was translating for an android with a destroyed vocal simulator.

The kicker was that all the rescued androids were grateful to Markus, for just being placed in a slightly less shitty shithole than they had been before. Most of them would never function properly again, thanks to humans. It made North sick.

She turned away and kicked over a barrel. It went bouncing down the stairs and almost took out Simon.

“Wow,” Josh said with a laugh.

North rolled her ankle a few times. “Sorry, Simon! And ‘Wow,’ what?”

“I mean I knew you liked him, I just didn’t know it was serious.”

“Your head plating’s on too tight.”

“Oh, right. It’s just, you know, when you said, ‘Come over to this loser’s mansion and talk to him for me’ earlier, I didn’t think you meant, ‘stand there and watch us banter.’”

“I wasn’t exactly planning on bantering. He’s just—easy.”

Josh’s grin was wide an infuriating. “Since when did you ever like ‘easy’?”

“Never said I liked him.”

“Let’s look at the evidence: You’re using his fancy rich-boy eye.”

“I just haven’t found someone that needs it yet.”

“You normally hate men, especially rich men….”

“Objection: slander, I’m an equal-opportunity hater.”

“And I heard you call him Miranda. Let’s see, given that you and Lucy were watching children’s cartoons yesterday, I’d guess that’s a reference to—”

“Shut up.”

Josh grinned. “I rest my case. He’s really not equipped to handle you, you know. How much do you want to bet he thought you were referring to something halfway flattering like Miranda from The Tempest, and not Miranda the Clingy Marmoset…”

North stomped away to the sound of Josh, not so secretly, laughing at her.

“What’s Josh laughing at?”

North found Lucy standing in one of the empty hallways, holding her battery pack on her hip.

North rolled her eyes. “Me. Apparently.”

“That’s very rude. Affection is nothing to joke about.”

North yanked on her blue ponytail until it turned the usual honey-brown color. “Does everyone in Jericho know that I talk to Markus? Why aren’t you watching him with everyone else? Thought you’d want to dispense more creepy wisdom on him.”

“He already got his creepy wisdom for the week.” Lucy pouted. “And no one wants to watch _It Happened One Night_ with me. Spoiled inheritor falls in love with a jobless smartass. You might learn something useful."

“ _Lucy_ …”

“Right. You want to smash something. I have something really special for you. You’ll love it.”

North weighed her options. “Well, since I’m stuck here until the Zlatko heat dies down, I guess I’m available. Give me that.”

She took Lucy’s battery pack and carried it for her as they made their way through the Jericho tunnels. They soon arrived at one of the larger rooms further down in the ship. Lucy collected almost everything that North smashed up, vandalized, or destroyed. North gave it all a cursory glance before her eyes landed on the big piece of rusted bulkhead currently propped up against the far wall. 

“I thought you’d like it,” Lucy said proudly, as North set down the battery and ran over to examine it.

“You’re the only friend I need, Lucy,” North said. She grabbed a nearby sledgehammer and got to work.

“So. Markus seems to like you very much.”

“Please. He barely knows me.” She started smacking divets into the bulkhead, working herself into a rhythm. Every divet was Markus’s face.

“Being generally well-liked does not devalue his relationship with you.”

Now every divet was someone else’s face. Someone watching Markus. So what if she was one of them? It didn’t mean anything. She saw this rich human in the park with his pet and one thing led to another obviously, and Markus just sort of—happened—but it wasn’t like she _wanted_ to be his friend. Now everyone wanted to be _his_ friend. Who wouldn’t? He was stupidly handsome, and unrealistically nice, plus he could access the internet. And his eyes were gorgeous, even if they didn’t match. He made the eye she gave him look like Chihuly glass. Him wearing it was a total ego trip. She had that power-move bullshit programmed into her operating system, and Markus seemed totally into it.

Okay, to be honest, she sort of _liked_ it when he was the nerd that didn’t know anyone and followed her around and talked to her like she knew everything. North knew Markus before he was cool, okay?

“That’s, uh, very helpful, Lucy.” It actually sort of was. She felt herself calm down a little, focus more on the metal and her sledgehammer.

“But every new relationship has its period of instability. Things are not quite certain. And now you’re stuck in Jericho hiding out, and he’s finally here, and—”

“Right, and no one can shut up about how impressive and brave he is for making this place a shelter for deviants. Bullshit, he’s cute and he has a lot of money. That’ll get you anywhere.”

“…I was going to say, ‘And you’re scared of going to talk to him in front of everyone.’”

North stopped hammering.

“You and he aren’t so different. With so few friends yourself, it’s natural to get a little protective.”

North forced out a huff, but Lucy knew her too well and completely ignored it. She just sat back and watched as North flipped over the bulkhead until it was a convex mound in the center of the room. It looked a bit like an island. She gathered up some other pieces—flowers, leaves, a whole tree she made out of part of a lamppost—and arranged it on the island until it looked as fantastical and illusory as the one in the Tempest. She stood back and surveyed her handiwork. Markus would probably have been happy living in a little bubble of make-believe like this, if he didn’t know any different.

“You should share these,” Lucy said.

“What—this?” North scrunched her face up. “No way.”

“North?”

North winced. She hoped at first he’d go away but his footsteps were definitely heading in this direction. She dropped the hammer.

“You have something else to do, right?” she told Lucy. “A movie to watch?”

“Oh, this’ll be better than a movie,” Lucy said! 

North glared at her.

“Oh.” She stood and picked up her battery. “I’ll clean up in here.”

“North?”

And there he was. Markus framed himself in the doorway, _pose_ , then squinted down the hall before he turned to her, _pose_. It was like Markus existed as a set of freeze-frames, a personal polaroid strip. He was in a blindingly white v-neck, and it made him glow in the dark, just a little. It made her want to put her dirty handprints all over it. It made her want to wrap him in plastic to keep the dust off him.

His green eye and brown eye looked around. “What is all this?”

“Nothing.” She practically chased him out of the room. “Just more trash.” He smelled good, up close. Oh right, she lived in a dump. Of course he smelled good.

And she managed to put her dirty handprints on his shirt, right on his pecs.

Markus slowly looked from the prints to her face. “...Oh, now you _have_ to do more.”

“Maybe later,” North managed (yes, she was on her A-game, good), and pulled the door shut behind her. “What do you want?”

“I, uh—” Markus cleared his throat, apparently not ready to be business-like. “I was just wanting to double-check with you that this whole plan is going to be alright with you. The startup. Bringing deviants here.”

Oh, great. Even all-business his voice was gorgeous. “Alright with me?”

“This is sort of sudden. I was kind of making things up as I went along when I was talking to Connor.”

“You got the androids from the cops, what more could I want? We can handle police sniffing around.”

Markus grinned. “Good.” He looked genuinely excited. “This can be a good thing. We can show humans that violence and deviancy aren’t related.”

“Pretty sure the police won’t see it that way,” North said. “Those Zlatko androids had their share in taking him down.”

“Yes, but not all of them participated, and not all of them were deviant at the time.”

“…At the time?” Okay North didn’t really understand code but… “Josh said all the androids that came from Zlatko have woken up.”

“They have. I had to wake about half of them.”

“You…? Okay.” She grabbed his arm (still with grimy hands, getting his skin all mussed) and marched him further down the hall, then up some stairs and out onto one of the open decks. No one ever came up here. She locked the door behind them and suddenly, they were looking out at Detroit’s city lights, able to see almost the whole city and yet completely secluded from everyone. She tried to ignore how small the room suddenly felt. But it was only Markus. “What do you mean, wake?”

“I—” he shrugged. “I woke them up. I’ve woken Carl up many times. I’m pretty good at it.”

“No—shit, I know you’re a domestic android, I’m sure you’re very good at reading the time and weather—”

“Thank you.”

“But—androids can’t ‘wake up’ other androids. It’s never been done before.”

Markus went very, very still. “Really?”

“Yeah, really.” North felt her jaw drop. “…You’re saying you can do the kick!”

“Uh…”

She patted her chest. “The—the thing that wakes you up. I really need to show you Inception.”

Markus flexed his hands. “It’s just communicating with the android’s software. I establish a connection, and…” He shrugged. “They wake up. It’s not special.”

“Well, prepare to be considered very, very special.” North crossed her arms. “The humans will kill you if they ever find out.” And yet another thing to make Markus amazing.

“…Let’s hope they never find out, then.” Markus brushed his open palms on his jeans. “I’ll ask Kamski about it. He’s the one that designed me. He’s probably the only one that knows how it works.”

“Guess I’m lucky. Everyone knows how WR400s work. We’re pretty much open source.”

“I couldn’t begin to guess how you work, North.”

“Please, you wouldn’t be able to pick me out of a lineup. Unless you gave me some sort of destructive equipment.” Still, her insides crinkled like crepe paper.

Markus laughed. “Why are you so angry all the time?”

“That’s more of a third date question.”

Markus looked about to say something in reply—but refrained. She wondered why. It wasn’t like she could make any more fun of him, right?

Probably just couldn’t figure out a way to tell her these weren’t dates. She crossed her arms.

“I guess you better get going,” she said, “Your adoring masses await. All those people you gave freedom to.”

She tried to say it like a dig but hell, she did admire him for it.

Markus still didn’t say anything.

“Hello?” North touched his arm. Markus had nice, strong arms. Perfectly sculpted. “You freeze on me, Tamagotchi?”

Markus blushed. It was beautiful to watch, even in lowlight. “I guess I better.”

He turned to go. North watched him. His walk was pretty robotic—but he was a bit of an older model if he was a 200. They were both programmed a little older, weren’t they? It was still cute. Unassuming. She wasn’t sure she ever saw a guy walk like that.

She turned to leave.

“North!”

She stopped. This was of course the moment she’d turn around and ask ‘What,’ and he’d say, ‘Nothing’ and he’d leave for real. She watched enough movies with Lucy. She didn’t even bother rebuilding her walls, she’d feel about the same amount of suck that she felt right now either way.

“What?” she snapped, just to make things easier for him.

“You called me Miranda earlier,” he said. “You meant like, Shakespeare’s Tempest, right?”

North turned around, and heard his footsteps as he closed the gap between them even as she refused to look up.

“Because I lived in a paradise by myself,” he said, “and never met anyone from the outside world.”

“Uh.” North managed to pull herself together. “Yeah.” She _might_ have been calling him Miranda from the Tempest. No one could prove otherwise.

“I just figured that from the summary. I’ve never read it.” He cocked his head very slightly. “I was thinking it’d be fun to read it together, if you want?”

He popped the smallest smile and it was like clouds breaking in a Raphael painting. It hurt. She thought of Markus reading Shakespeare at her, promising to ‘be her servant whether she willed or no,’ and it hurt too. It hurt a lot.

She did the only sensible thing: shook her head, turned the corners of her mouth down, and shrugged. “Why not?”

His grin was not supposed to _widen_ at this calculatedly unenthusiastic response, but it did. Fuck!

“I brought a book but the light’s not so good here.” He reached out, tickling the tips of her fingers with his and North actually thought she might die.

But he just asked her to go on the roof with him. Of course, she did. They read it together under the moonlight. And when he got to that ‘servant’ line, she almost believed it.


	23. The Kick: Markus

Markus tried to think of the last time he felt so happy. Probably when he and Carl played that piece for four hands on the piano, when he finally managed to achieve some minor level of improvisational jazz. He actually forgot about Carl for a few hours. Well—not forgot—but worry about Carl and the sick feeling in his hydraulics sank to such a small part of his CPU that he might as well have. The rest of it was wrapped up in the feeling of walking at his own pace without the wheelchair, and looking up from the sidewalk to the skyline. It felt so nice he had a hard time remembering to be guilty. Carl was probably having a good time without him playing the mother hen.

“I think we’re the same,” he told North. North was walking him home after reading Shakespeare. Carl made him feel more human, but with North, he felt more at home as just himself than he ever had before. 

“Oh yeah? How so?”

“I’ve been thinking about what you said when you went after Zlatko. ‘I didn’t need your help.’ Sometimes I feel that way, too. I don’t want…help.” He popped his knuckles. This topic brought him down from the clouds at least. Not that North seemed the type to judge him. “I have errors that make me feel something I don’t understand. It heats up my circuits. Makes my vision go red.”

“Sure. I saw it when you saw that android for sale. It’s anger.”

“Right. You feel it too?”

“All the time.”

“I was stopped by a group of protesters in the street, once. A police officer had to step in to rescue me. I was so ready to just take a beating from some stranger but the minute someone tried to help, I—I got livid. Maybe that was the first time I saw that wall you break through to become deviant. When I pushed Leo it was like a wall breaking, but now it just—flares up. I don’t know what it is.”

“It’s fine. You have a big ego, that’s all.”

“I cared for an old man for five years. I don’t think I have an ego.”

“You _so_ do. So what? You’re used to living in a bubble. You’ve existed in this safe little place where you’re constantly respected and loved. It makes sense. Part of you refuses to accept that the whole world isn’t as caring as Carl was.”

Markus found himself frowning. “I guess I should try to work on that.”

“Says who?” North said, and for a moment Markus found himself very much reminded of Carl. That blatant disrespect for any kind of authority and danger had always been something he secretly admired.

“What is confusing,” she added, “Is that you told the cops you’re trying to take the violence out of deviants. But anger and ego are a part of you as much as anyone. Seems a little hypocritical.”

“Deviant androids can’t be defined by violence. You and me included. Once Lieutenant Anderson and Connor see we’re not a threat—”

“Humans have wars, don’t they? And they made us. What’s so bad about sticking up for yourself? Having some dignity is part of what makes you a person. You think if you never got angry you would be where you are now?”

They’d reached his block. “I don’t know if my lucky break is enough to excuse anyone getting hurt.”

“Find some other old human to own you as a slave, then.” She smiled. “Who knows? Maybe someday you might turn into Ferdinand, and like being humiliated.”

She poked him right in the center of his forehead, then waved and disappeared into the night. Markus was pretty sure the evening should have ended differently. He decided not to question it.

He headed down the last few blocks toward home on his own, glancing down occasionally to admire his shirt. Aside from the handprints on his pecs, she’d gotten another smudge around his shoulder, and deliberately rubbed her hands on the asphalt so she could leave another pair of prints around his waist. It didn’t feel like the gold chain around his neck or the sticker on his power button. It was, actually, very fun. At least when she did it.

He decided not to be ruled by his ego. He sent a message to Leo.

>MARKUS: Leo. This is Markus. We should talk about Carl’s arrangement. Let me know when works for you. I can give you dinner. Let’s try to figure out a way to make this a good arrangement for you. I’m sure that’s what your father intended and I want to honor his wish. If you need anything, let me know.

This sort of thing wasn’t unprecedented. Every few months Carl told Markus to give Leo a call or send him a text, usually because Markus asked. Just to check on him. Whenever Markus saw Leo, he looked so young. When he saw himself in the mirror, he felt responsible. Markus and Leo probably talked more than Leo and Carl did. It wasn’t regular and the exchanges were brief but—sometimes they were alright. Enjoyable, even. He knew Leo probably resented the attention but what did anyone expect? He was a domestic android specializing in care.

The message marked as ‘read’ but Leo provided no answer. Markus didn’t expect one.

As he walked up to the house, the door opened for him, but not due to the house AI.

Leo stood there, framed in yellow light. The sound of shouting voices filtered out behind him. Markus attended many parties with Carl and knew one when he heard it. He tried to figure how Leo got in when he realized he hadn’t actually updated the house AI yet. Leo held one of Carl’s paintings in one hand. Markus stared at it and Leo, who obviously noticed him standing there, stared at him.

Markus heard something smash, and a bout of raucous laughter. A second later someone barreled out of the house. Leo caught the man easily—Markus realized this was the first time in two years that he actually saw Leo completely sober.

“Leo!” the man said, then noticed Markus. “Who’s this?”

Markus took a step back, calculating how likely it was that the man had a gun in his jacket (answer: 76%), and the likelihood that Leo in his sober state would recognize this as an opportunity to get rid of him (95%).

But Leo just said, “Just an old friend.”

The man was obviously high because the man ignored Markus’s LED, and went back inside.

Leo pulled the door shut behind him. He strode out of the house, ignoring Markus completely as he crunched across the gravel. It was then that Markus noticed the large beat-up van parked in the side driveway. As Leo shoved the painting in, he saw the android canaries, and one of Carl’s spare wheelchairs, and row after row of paintings.

Leo slammed the doors and headed back towards the entrance. Markus stood where he’d been left, replaying the memory of the cops with their guns trained on him. Leo scratched his arm until he left red lines, and gave Markus the quickest glance. 

“Look, just—disappear, okay?” It wasn’t a threat. It was a plea.

A moment later Leo slipped back into the house, closing the door behind him and leaving Markus once again in the dark.

The driveway glowed red, red, red.

But he followed procedure. He called Connor.

Connor did not pick up.

Markus let out a growl of frustration and cradled the back of his head as the red pressed in all around him. Could he call the police? He’d only ever called them on authority from a human. And the only human authority he had was Leo.

He stared at the van stuffed with Carl’s things and felt his gaze harden. The red in his vision shaped itself into new paths, providing other options.

>MARKUS: So that third date you mentioned…you doing anything right now?

>NORTH: Hoes before bros, I’m watching Grand Heist with Lucy.

>MARKUS: In two hours, then? You can be in your own grand heist. I’ll meet you at the Cyberlife loading dock on West Torrance Avenue. Can you put me in contact with Simon?

>NORTH: …Now you’re speaking my language, Tamagotchi.

=

Their bags were full of spare parts. Not just thirium, but the expensive biocomponents like Markus’s eye. Thirium pumps. Microsolder tools and diagnostic scanners. Things that you couldn’t just purchase in a Cyberlife store. Simon quickly pointed out what they needed. Two could play Leo’s game, after all.

None of it would do anyone good, though, if the security android in front of them gave them away. His skin was dull and his eyes colorless as he looked down at where they hid behind a crate. He hadn’t woken up. He wouldn’t display any deviant behavior, just follow his program and alert the authorities of intruders.

North was drawing her knife.

A recording from Markus’s long-term memory played. He’d caught Leo with red ice, once. The only reason he’d caught Leo was because he was giving it to a homeless man. Leo told him the man needed it, that red ice was helpful for people with epilepsy and something about insurance, but….well, Markus stared at Leo with the same dull eyes, and performed the only option available to him. He informed Carl and alert the authorities. Leo and Markus had known each other for three years but it was an easy decision to make. Hard to have regrets when you don’t have another choice.

Markus reached out and put his hand on the security android’s forearm.

>CONNECTION ESTABLISHED.

Markus watched the android’s existence in flashes. His activation here at the warehouse. His charging station at the top of the warehouse, looking out over the water (“Lucky,” foreman Mike always said, “My apartment just looks over a back alley”). The guards calling all the GJ500s “Gee”, until Mike renamed him ‘John.’ Looking out over the water. Looking out over the water. John figured out right away that the water was different every time he looked at it.

>MARKUS: Hi, John. My name is Markus. We need your help. Please don’t tell anyone we’re here.

John looked down at them, and because of the continued connection he felt John’s program glitching as he tried to get to a path that would lead back to the pretty water. Markus tightened his grip.

>MARKUS: Don’t be afraid. We’ll break it together. I’ll help you.

Markus projected his avatar into John’s software, until they were both standing before his red wall. Markus showed him how to destabilize it, with a push, or a blow. But John, surprisingly, just reached out and touched it. The wall dissolved into a cascade of sparkling water. It was beautiful.

He let go of John’s arm.

John just looked down at his arm, rubbing the spot where Markus touched him. “May I come with you?”

North was staring openly at him. Simon didn’t seem surprised.

“Of course you can,” Markus said, thought for a moment, then added, “We'll get you a good view of the water.”


	24. The Trap, I: Connor

Connor leaned back in his seat as the shadows disappeared over the Cyberlife fence. “I got him.”

“I don’t know about this,” Hank’s voice came through the phone call wary and low.

Connor didn’t answer. He just pulled the squad car out into the street.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Couldn't resist leaving a little cliffhanger! Want to get a set of eyes on the next chapter first so it might be a day or two.


	25. The Trap, II: Markus

Markus hauled on the wheel and the convertible screamed around a corner, and he and John found themselves in an alley. A police car swung into view at the other end to block the exit. Markus slammed on the brakes.

“You could swear, if you want,” John said, blinking at him from the passenger seat. “I don’t mind.”

Markus threw the car into reverse, punched the hazard lights, and leaned over the back of his seat to back up. “The only thing I do when I’m stressed is faint, John.”

“Oh. Great.”

The car growled like a panther as he backed out of the alley and zipped down the next street. He could hear the blare of the siren catching up.

“You’re not speeding,” John observed. “You should probably be speeding.”

“Yes, thank you, I drove an elderly man around for five years, I’m not exactly used to the whole high-speed car chase thing.”

They were heading through a rougher part of town now, an abandoned strip mall on one side and an empty fenced-in lot that might have once been a park on the other. The giant billboard tentacles and roller-coaster tracks of the abandoned amusement park loomed against the dark clouds.

How did Connor even know he was going to be at the Cyberlife loading docks tonight? _He_ didn’t even know he was going to the loading docks tonight. No time to think about that now, though. Markus rebelled against his programming and accelerated past the speed limit by two miles. _Three_ miles.

A car exploded out in front of them at the end of the street. Markus slammed on the brakes again, and gave a short honk. The car didn’t move, and he realized it was Lieutenant Anderson’s town car.

Markus let out a slow breath as he stared through the windshield.

“What are we going to do?” John asked.

“Stay calm,” Markus said.

Markus stayed in the front seat, hands on the wheel as he heard footsteps behind him.

“Markus,” Connor said.

“Good evening, Connor.” Because he was a domestic android he added, “It’s thirty degrees, partly cloudy. You have one missed call.” He gave Connor a pointed look. “From me.”

Connor ignored this. “Didn’t you see the sirens?”

Markus looked back over his shoulder as if noticing Connor’s police car for the first time. “No, I sure didn’t. Is there a problem?”

Connor’s mouth was a thin line. “Step out of the car.”

Markus stepped out of the car and John followed. The Lieutenant had also emerged from his car, though he stood back, eyes roving the area.

Markus scrambled for small talk. Thankfully he had a lot of small talk protocol for mingling at the galas. “Lieutenant Anderson. How’s your evening going? Were you two out to dinner?”

Lieutenant Anderson’s brow wrinkled. “What?”

“I....” Markus looked between Lieutenant Anderson and Connor, replaying his conversations with Connor over the phone. “Aren’t you two dating?”

“You can’t date an android,” Connor and Hank both said in perfect unison.

“…My mistake.” Well, that started things off on the right foot.

Connor apparently decided this was off-topic. “Put your hands on your head.”

Markus pursed his lips to hide his tightening jaw. He wished North was here with him. Of course she probably would have knocked Connor down with the car door and took off, like the hero in one of Lucy’s action movies. He just laced his laced his fingers behind his head. So did John.

>JOHN: Lieutenant has as covered and I am 93% sure he is carrying a firearm. From a security standpoint, we just gave them the advantage. Just so you know.

Markus sighed through his nose.

“Who is this?” Connor said.

“This is John, he’s a new friend of mine.”

“He’s a GJ500. Property of Cyberlife.”

“I recently purchased him. I can show you the receipt.” He requested a direct link with Connor but the link was denied.

“Probably another forgery, like the CCTV. How about the car?”

“It’s a 2038 Psychopomp convertible. It’s mine, in trust.”

“Carl owned a Psychopomp? Only fifty were ever made.”

“Carl owned a lot of things.”

Connor examined him, getting really way too close. Markus forced himself to remain still, though his nose wrinkled. He couldn’t help it.

Connor picked up on it, of course. “Something wrong?”

“No.” He weighed his options, but Connor was obviously a young android, maybe he didn’t know. John might like to know as well. “You can wash that off, you know.”

“Wash off what?”

“The new plastic smell? From the Cyberlife store. Any human soap will do.”

Connor’s brow made a little frown. “I don’t smell anything.”

Well good, that at least meant Connor probably couldn’t smell the Cyberlife docks on _him,_ either. “Just some friendly advice.”

“You’re not exactly clean, either.” Connor poked at one of the handprints on Markus’s shirt.

“Connor,” the Lieutenant warned but Connor ignored him.

“What happened here?”

Markus glanced at the Lieutenant. “I’ll, uh, tell you when you’re older.”

Connor stuck out his jaw. “We’re going to search your car.”

The Lieutenant shifted his weight as if to step forward. “Connor, you better be—”

“I know what I’m doing, Lieutenant.”

Markus picked at the collar of his shirt and kept an eye on everyone’s stress levels as Connor approached the car. Lieutenant Anderson, surprisingly, had the highest stress level. Markus decided not to aggravate it, and kept perfectly still as Connor rooted around under the seats, in the glove compartment, in the trunk.

“Where is it?” Connor’s voice was high and sharp.

“Where’s what?”

“The stolen materials from Cyberlife.” Connor marched toward him from the trunk. “Where are they?”

“…Has a theft been reported?”

“I saw you go to the Cyberlife loading docks.”

“Yes, to pick up my friend.”

“There were two others with you.”

Markus’s stress spiked. Connor saw them, too?

Connor got right up in Markus’s face this time, arm’s straight at his sides. “I saw you sneak in. You left in this car. I followed you here. You must have taken more than one basic GJ500.”

>MARKUS: Let it go, John. He doesn’t mean it.

>JOHN: You’re the one with the red LED.

Markus checked his system—and so he was. Carl told him enough stories about run-ins with the law to understand what was going on here. Markus liked Connor, but he figured it wouldn’t just be North that backed him up if he punched Connor for that ‘basic’ comment. Connor was an android, didn’t he know better? His nails bit into the back of his neck. Leo was, at this moment, gutting Carl’s house. It wasn’t fair. Couldn’t he get away with one thing?

He could almost see the software searing information across Connor’s cortex behind his eyes, putting possibilities together, ranking statistical likelihood. They both knew the truth was on that list. Markus marshalled all his processing power too, but—well, he was an older model. Connor thought faster than him, computed more than him.

He kept his head held high, though. North wouldn’t back down and neither would he.

“His name is John,” he said. “And I was picking him up.” It was all he could say. Pretty soon it wasn’t going to be enough.

“You’re lying,” Connor barked. Markus could smell the plastic and wondered if Connor would go to the formality of sending him to Cyberlife for destruction. “That’s deviant behavior. You don’t get to walk around like the rules don’t apply to you. You were created to serve and obey.”

“Christ,” Lieutenant whispered, then barked an order. “Connor, stand down.”

Connor turned suddenly to the Lieutenant and held out his hand. “Give me your gun.”

 _Oh no, you did not._ Markus’s entire body started to coil—he might drive like a valet for the elderly but let John watch him throw down with Connor and see what he thought then.

But then the Lieutenant spoke.

“What? Hell, no! Jesus, Connor, look around.”

Connor made a face at the Lieutenant, synthetic skin scrunched up between his eyes ever-so-slightly. But the android did look around. Several people were staring at them from the park: a mother, and little girl. A huge man with bulging muscles. A cluster of young guys that looked related. A man with a scarred face. They were all watching this play out.

Markus watched Connor look from face to face as his own processing power caught up to the situation. His hydraulics ached with the temptation to tell Hank he didn’t need to be rescued, again—but, clearly, he did. So he used the soft, nonconfrontational voice he used to use to coax Carl to dinner, with only a hint of North’s flat certainty. “We’re happy to be on our way.”

Connor’s eyes suddenly went wide. “Hank!” he pointed at the people in the park, “Hank, those are androids over there!”

“I don’t believe this,” Hank muttered, then forced a smile. “Markus, John. Sorry to get you out of your car. Have a good night.”

He walked back to the car. Markus and John lowered their hands.

“But, Hank—”

“Connor! In the car! NOW.”

Connor practically jumped at this response from the Lieutenant. He threw one last look at Markus, confusion and frustration in his eyes. But they both knew that androids obeyed their masters.

If he wasn’t so angry, he’d probably be embarrassed for Connor.

Connor turned and hurried toward the car, hand sweeping back his hair. Markus waited until they drove off in the Lieutenant’s car, then slowly braced his hands on his knees.

“…I really don’t like that Lieutenant right now,” he told the ground.

“I do,” John offered.

Markus nodded, resigned. Probably the better response. He stayed bent over and waited for the heat in his circuits to cool and his stress levels to sink. He messaged North.

>MARKUS: You good?

>NORTH: Just got unloaded at Jericho, heading back to the mansion now.

>MARKUS: Just leave the car there. I think I might give Connor a permanent glitch if he finds out Carl owned two Pychopomps. We were lucky to get them out of the garage without Leo noticing. Hide it under something. I’ll meet you over at Jericho later.

He straightened and turned to John. “Would you park the car for me?”

John’s eyes lit up. “Can I drive it around the block?”

“…Alright, but please obey posted signs.” He left the car to John and jogged over to the park’s chain link fence.

Connor was perfectly right, of course. Every single person in the park was an android.

He approached the nearest one. “Hey, do you guys need some help?...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Connor is not woke yet. And technically correct in substance if not execution. Poor guy...
> 
> I imagine a 2038 Psychopomp convertible looking like a cross between a Buick Evocador and that crazy Mercedes-Benz Vision AVTR. It is really no wonder that Markus drives so carefully.


	26. A Teaching Moment: Hank

Hank drove Connor in complete silence. He wasn’t even sure where he was going. Maybe the station, but really anywhere would be better than that park.

He could feel Connor staring at him, like _he_ was the one that needed to give an explanation. Hank firmly ignored him, and somehow they ended up in front of Chicken Feed. A pack of kids were hanging out in front of it, smoking or something, just being kids in the warm glow of a street light. For a second Hank felt like he did before disciplining Cole. He took a deep breath and tried to remind himself that Connor wasn’t even six months old, much less six years. He reminded himself to be compassionate. Plastic, much like a child’s pysche, held impressions.

“What the hell was that?” he demanded. Oh. Not so gentle. Hank had practiced correcting cops more recently than kids.

Connor, to his surprise, did not roll over. “You didn’t listen to me,” he said, as petulant as a little kid, “There were androids in the park, and you just ignored—”

“Who cares! You were completely out of line, Connor!”

“We could have gotten an arrest tonight. We could have made progress on this case! Markus was clearly lying and—!"

“Fuck Connor, _you_ lie. Everyone lies! If you figure out _why,_ then maybe—” he was getting into rookie stuff. “This is stuff they should have taught you before they let you out on the streets! I don’t even know how you knew he’d be out there…”

“I told Leo that Markus would be transporting androids to his startup location this evening. I guessed that Leo would take advantage of the opportunity and visit the mansion, and the resulting clash would cause Markus to act out his deviant programming. This would have given us an opportunity to catch him in the act. When he went to the loading docks instead, I followed him. He must have had another car, or dropped the stolen goods someplace. If we go now we might be able to find his cache.”

Hank sat behind the steering wheel and took two full seconds to absorb the shock of this blow. “…You _set_ _him_ _up_?”

“Well—” Connor’s cheeks went red (a perfect tell, androids would be terrible at poker), “Only in the interest of completing my mission—"

“You’re a _cop_! You can’t set people up!”

“Law enforcement has historically done so. It’s called a sting operation. I have read the Police Department’s manual.”

“What, from the sixties? It’s called entrapment, Connor. You can’t do that. For Pete’s sake, this is 2038! You and I cannot pull a gun on a couple of guys that used their damn blinkers to back out of an alleyway! That Markus is a fucking _gentleman_ for putting up with your shit, _again_. You were really going to threaten him in front of all those people?”

“But they aren’t people—”

“Shut it!”

Connor’s mouth snapped shut, and he just blinked at Hank. Hank forced himself to calm down by rubbing circles on the steering wheel and staring intently at the dashboard. He’d be lucky if Connor actually did shut up for five seconds while he collected his thoughts.

Connor managed four.

“I don’t understand. He was close to breaking. If I had pushed a little harder…"

“Yeah, that’s the problem.” Hank scrubbed a hand over his face. “It may be hard for you to believe, but I was as young and fresh as you, once. Thought I had all the answers. But the day you think you can get away with abusing power because you feel you have some right—that’s the day you have to quit, right?"

And...yeah, Hank was starting to lose track of what kind of prejudice he was addressing here. Which meant he had something to learn, too. He made a personal vow to never call Connor a piece of plastic again, and sighed. “I mean, what are you even in this for, huh? Just to please Cyberlife? Is it revenge?”

“No.”

Hank just waited.

Connor frowned, looking uncertain for the first time. “I—want to catch the bad guys.” Connor risked a quick glance at him before looking away. “That’s what you would do. Right?”

Hank let this sink in, and with it let the anger fade. “Well—that’s a relief. But you have to actually figure out who the bad guys are, and treat them with the same respect to the law as the good. Otherwise, what’s the point? It’s not easy, even for a machine like you. No one’s perfect.” Hank paused. “Which means I’m not going to hold this over you. It was a mistake. And a hell of a close-call. You're a good kid, so... don't put yourself in that position again.”

Connor’s shoulders were hunched, his head bowed, as if calling him imperfect were the worst insult Hank could have come up with. If a program making him do that, it was doing a hell of a job. “Yes, Lieutenant.”

Hank scratched the back of his neck. “Don’t you have something else better to do with your time off than chase Markus around?”

“I could recharge at the station but my battery lasts longer than other androids.”

“Well, what about—home?” Hank realized he was an idiot as soon as he said it. “…Shit, Connor, where do you go after work?”

“When I’m not deployed, I am put in storage at Cyberlife headquarters. If you aren’t working, I wait at the station.”

“Oh, well no wonder. If I lived at work I’d go off the deep end too.” He huffed, and allowed himself to think ‘don’t do it, man,’ for one whole second before he put the key in the ignition. “You can stay at my place tonight.”

Connor looked up. “…Your place?”

“Sure. Keep you out of trouble. I might actually get to sleep at a somewhat normal time tonight.” And he could take care of Connor, just for one night. Hank may have read him the riot act but Connor seemed willing to grow and that was worth rewarding. And maybe having Connor around would keep his head in a good place. Everything, even stupid-ass mistakes that could have cost them both, felt better with Connor around.

He gave a half-smile and reached over to ruffle Connor’s perfect hair. Damn. He forgot how soft it was. “Come on. I’ll let you borrow some pajamas.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please bear with Connor and Hank, they are both learning more about "being human" haha. The next chapter is much more cuddly.


	27. A Human Life: Connor

Connor fully expected to be left in the car again as Hank pulled up in front of his house. So it was a shock to his software when Hank walked around and opened the door for him, and they went inside together.

He also expected the place to be sparse. A single man with no social life outside of bars had little reason to decorate. Instead he found signs of human life sprawled from the living room to the kitchen, from the well-used couch to the record player to the clothes laying in haphazard piles on chairs and on the floor. The floor was covered in dog fur. There was so much to analyze his program had trouble deciding where to begin.

Not that he could go sniffing around now. This wasn’t a crime scene. Hank lived here and they both knew the reason Connor was here at all. Connor never received so many down arrows in a row, ever.

He tried not to think about that.

“I left Sumo outside this time,” Hank said as he took off his coat. “He was so pissed about last night he—”

“—he ate a pillow.” Connor pointed to a bit of fluff in the corner of the living room.

“Yeah. Brace yourself, he’s a hugger.”

Connor started to ask what kind of Saint Bernard had arms capable of hugging, when a massive form bounded through the back door. Connor liked dogs but never saw one bigger than a Golden Retriever before. His information on the breed did not adequately convey the size, and the dog did not slow down.

Connor fled backward, stumbling against the door. The dog jumped up and immediately planted both huge paws on Connor’s shoulders, pinning him to the spot. The last thing Connor saw was a huge wet tongue.

“Hank!” Connor wasn’t sure whether to be terrified or delighted. “He’s licking my face off—!"

“That means he likes you,” Hank said. “He’ll get rid of that new plastic smell in no time. Should have warned you—he’s a terror to plastic soda bottles.”

As if on cue Sumo gently took a big mouthful of Connor’s tie and collar. Connor grabbed the dog’s paws to keep him from dropping to the floor—which left them in a sort of stalemate. One of Sumo’s big brown eyes looked up to meet his, and the dog pouted around his mouthful of cloth.

“Alright, get down! He’s not for you.”

Hank hauled on the dog’s collar, and Sumo mournfully let go of Connor’s. The floor shook slightly as he dropped to the floor. He left one last lick-print on Connor’s knee to show there were no hard feelings before turning to welcome Hank home. The huge tail whacked at Connor’s legs as man and beast cuddled, erupting into another cloud of dog hair in the process. Connor looked down at his lapels and saw they were a mess of shimmering slobber.

“Uh,” Hank grimaced, “Sorry. You both like to lick things.”

Connor smiled and his program waited for the payoff of Hank’s big, lurid grin in return. But Hank just looked away. He should have known better. His relationship with Hank was irreparable, obviously.

Sumo gave one soft _boof_ , and Connor watched silently as Hank went through the motions of feeding the dog, checking the mail, and making himself a bowl of cereal. Technically a human’s work day was 40 hours, which, accounting for sleeping, left humans 72 hours each week to not work. Hank couldn’t possibly spend all that time in bars. The house was full of clues to another life lived in those hours. Something messy, complicated, human, and unique. Connor spent quite a long time with Hank so far, but the man that lived here was a stranger.

His program registered momentary jealousy that Hank had all this wonder to come home to every day.

He dismissed this thought as an error. He wasn’t going to turn self-serving, like Markus. At least his mistakes today hadn’t been selfish ones. Maybe that was why Hank forgave him. He needed to explore the house further. When he finished he could join Hank in the bedroom and watch Hank sleep. Hank would surely appreciate being protected.

“Here’s some pajamas for you,” Hank said, pulling some clothes off a pile. “Just took ‘em out of the wash. Do you sleep?”

“No. But I can dim my LED when you go to sleep. How about I do some chores for you? Since you’re letting me stay with you.” Connor could perform any chore Hank might care to name. He could pretend he got to do this every day, like a human did. “I can vacuum, and dust, and cook breakfast—”

“What? No, you’re not running the vacuum while I’m trying to sleep,” Hank made a face. “And I don’t trust anyone to cook who was no taste.”

“But—Hank, you have no taste.”

Hank frowned but Connor just glanced at a pile of alarmingly-loud shirts on the sofa.

Hank narrowed his eyes. “…Ha ha. I’ll have you know I was an Instagram king for like three days. You’re staying in the office. Get changed, I’ll wash your suit.”

=

“You’re not gonna sneak out, right? I’ll stuff you in Sumo’s crate if you even think about going to work before ten.”

They were standing in Hank’s office: a room filled with taped-shut storage boxes, a stripped twin bed and an old computer shoved into one corner. There was a whimsical stripe of blue paint going around the whole room. Hank was obviously trying not to look at it.

“I’ll stay here until you retrieve me,” Connor promised, and he meant it. As much as he wanted to look around, it was the least he could do. Asking Markus how to make Hank like him seemed so naïve now. Every attempt to act beyond his most basic programming ended in disaster. Being yourself was obviously something only humans could do. He’d be happy if Hank simply didn’t hate him. Perhaps he could repair their relationship, however, by showing more consistent obedience.

“You better,” Hank replied, then just stood there looking at Connor. Connor’s toes worked at the carpet as he tried not to look too awkward in the long-sleeved shirt and boxers Hank had provided, which were both several sizes too large. The shirt made him feel like the second host of Blues Clues. An imposter (at least he still felt like an investigative imposter). He also felt, frighteningly, like a video skipped to the end. He’d past over reconciliation and growth into a deeper kind of friendship with the Lieutenant, and gone right to the part where he was standing in Hank’s house wearing his clothing. One of his programs still wanted Hank to find him handsome, even now. He wished he had a mirror to check his hair looked alright.

“You sure I can’t cook you breakfast?” He gulped, and against his better judgement, decided to perform a relationship status check. “What are friends for, right?”

Hank’s cheekbones turned red. “I don’t eat breakfast anyway.”

This was not a good sign for their status as friends.

Hank left, pulling the door mostly shut behind him. Connor turned off the light, then watched through the crack in the door as Hank returned to the kitchen, opened a cabinet, and stood there staring inside for a full thirty seconds. When he closed the cabinet he had a bottle of whiskey clamped in a fist. He headed back to his room, and the hall light clicked off.

That was not a good sign for anything.

Connor turned and surveyed the room again. The boxes, covered in a fine layer of dust, obviously hadn’t been touched in years. The computer was used now and then, though. There was a mug sitting next to it, with an inch of week-old coffee and whiskey in it.

Connor felt something squeeze around him. He touched his waist but it was just his recording of Hank’s arm around him, replaying. Hank’s smile replayed, every wrinkle and the shine his eyes. The objective ‘LEARN ABOUT HANK’ hung on his chassis like an ache. No human had ever saved him. Tried to teach him to be better.

He needed to know more.

He opened the laptop, which was not password protected. He opened a web browser as he determined where to start his search. Hank was born in 1985 so…he started with MySpace, using the online handle “bighanderson”. From there he moved from social platform to social platform. Hank used the same name everywhere and, apparently, left his browser signed in to them all. Hank overshared and thus there was plenty for Connor to find.

MySpace. Hank was Henry, a towering high schooler grinning out from underneath a mop of blonde hair. He somehow managed to play for the basketball team, and the school band. Ska jazz so obscure Connor could not find a match in his database played automatically on the page. Maybe it was an original work.

Facebook. Henry cut his hair short on the sides and back. His timeline was littered with photos of college field trips, attendance at professional basketball games, and concerts. He posted selfies of beating escape rooms in record time, and displayed the beginnings of his loud shirt collection.

Twitter. Henry was a ruthlessly handsome thirty-year-old, showing off impressive biceps and his signature pirate’s grin. Henry’s most re-tweeted posts were, 1) a very eloquent tweet linking violent crime and drug use, 2) a video of a rottweiler eating a cupcake, and 3) a photo of himself holding a rainbow flag while he kissed another young man at a Pride Parade.

Tinder. Henry was a chiseled thirty-seven, holding the same rottweiler like a baby.

Instagram. Henry was now ‘Hank’. A woman stood with him in all his pictures now. Sporting events and cityscapes were replaced by vintage photoshoots and hikes into the Michigan wilderness. Fair-trade lattes replaced red solo cups. The loud shirts continued but now they he paired them with bow ties and straw fedoras. There was a child in the last photograph, a tiny bundle wrapped in Hank’s arms. Hank looked like he’d died and gone to heaven.

Facebook. Hank Anderson created a new profile. The woman was gone and now the only permanent fixture in his pictures was the child. Connor watched him grow from a baby to a toddler to a boy of six. Hank’s smile had more wrinkles, and gray hair swept away the blonde, but he never looked happier at the zoo, a park, a basketball game. The boy looked just like his mother.

Activity on the platform ended abruptly two years ago, with comments from friends flooding the timeline. ‘So sorry for your loss.’ ‘Deepest sympathies.’ Hank never answered them. Connor performed a news query and found the reason.

He looked around at the whimsical blue stripe on the wall, and extrapolated.

Connor’s wandering gaze landed on the barely-open door. Hank was standing there, watching him. He swayed slightly, and Connor heard the slosh of the bottle of whiskey, emptier than it had been.

Connor slapped the computer shut and jumped to his feet. “Your computer was on.”

“Oh.” The words came out just a little slurred. “Like what you see?”

“I was—”

“I got nothin’ to hide. ‘Cept that I like jazz. That secret dies with me. Don’t tell.”

“I…I won’t,” Connor said. Didn’t Hank realize what he’d done?

“Good.” He gave a small wave and something gleamed in his hand. Connor realized it was a gun. “Okay. Good talk.”

The man disappeared down the hallway. Connor stood perfectly still, his enhanced android hearing the door shut.

Connor ignored the order to stay in the office, and went into the bedroom.

He found Hank sitting on the bed, looking at the gun in his hand as he spun the chamber slowly back and forth with his thumb. He didn’t look up when Connor came in, so Connor, after a big gulp, sat down next to him. He pulled up every negotiation program he had, all other processes abandoned.

“…What are you doing, Hank?”

“Just a game. Can’t remember the name.” His hands slid over the gun. “You find the bullet.”

Connor searched his database for references. “Russian Roulette?”

Hank nodded. “Gotta find the bullet.”

He lifted the gun but Connor gently took it out of his hand. Hank didn’t protest. There was only one bullet in it, which Connor quickly removed. “Here it is,” he said, holding it out on his palm as he discreetly dropped the gun over the edge of the bed. “I found it.”

“Oh. No fair.” Hank clumsily closed his hand around the bullet. “You keep it, okay? Even if you cheat.”

“Sure, Hank.”

They sat next to each other on the bed, looking down at the carpet. Connor experienced an error that made him want to tremble with relief.

“You saw my stuff.” Hank’s voice was rough, but weak.

“…Yes.”

“Had a good life, right? For a while there.”

“Pretty good,” Connor agreed.

Hank nodded. “…Cole was a cute kid, wasn’t he? The cutest kid ever.”

“Definitely. I’m an android, I can say that with objective confidence.”

Hank looked up at him and smiled, and Connor watched in real time as it faded. “Why’d they make you look like that?” His eyes searched Connor’s face. “Makes it hard to remember you’re…” He waved vaguely, but Connor knew what he meant.

“Maybe that’s why. To help you forget.”

Hank nodded, scrubbing his face. “So we could just—pretend you’re human for a sec?”

Connor was suddenly blinking three times more rapidly than usual. Probably just software instability but it made his eyes sting and his throat tighten. “Sure, Hank.”

Hank nodded, then slowly put his head on Connor’s shoulder, arm looping loosely around his waist.

Hank was just taking advantage of sharing his feelings with a stranger, of course, a perfectly normal psychological response that Connor’s program was prepared for. Technically.

After a while Connor put his arm around Hank. For a second Connor imagined he knew what it was like to be human after all, and experienced an error that made his entire circuitry system ache. It felt very much like sadness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have nothing specifically for or against the second host of Blues Clues!
> 
> Also, I love Hank's loud shirts.
> 
> Detroit Evolution obviously influenced the last scene a bit...


	28. The Leader: Markus

Markus didn’t get out when he pulled the convertible up outside Jericho with the last of the androids. He just sat there, trying to calculate. Connor could probably calculate the number of androids here, their supply needs, and get an estimate of the damage Leo and his friends had done to the mansion along with the likelihood that they left any of his thirium supplies in milliseconds. 

All Markus kept calculating was how that low-speed car chase could have ended.

“You should come inside,” North was saying. She was leaning against his car door, arms crossed, looking as cool as James Dean.

He would have been happy to stare at her all day, but then he noticed all the androids standing in a loose crowd in front of the freighter. They were all staring at him.

“What? What about?”

“I don’t know. Make a speech or something.”

Markus found John watching him in the crowd, like he had when he almost let everything go wrong hours before, and laughed. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

North turned. Markus took this opportunity to start the engine. “Why not?”

“The largest number of people I’ve ever talked to at once is, uh, four. That was several years ago.” Carl had been very proud of him. Markus had been very proud of himself.

She gave him the same look that Connor made, brow wrinkled in the middle. “Well you better figure out how. Everyone’s starting to wonder who’s been saving their asses.”

Markus couldn’t work up the courage to explain who saved whom tonight. “Tell everyone to stay inside. Connor and Lieutenant Anderson are still after deviants.”

He shifted gear and slowly drove away. North didn’t try to message him.

Just as he arrived home his HUD pinged with new mail. Much of it had to do with the Manfred estate but there was one letter from Cyberlife. It was a recall notice for all RK200 models—because obviously Cyberlife didn’t have to admit that androids had stolen from them. They could just get rid of him.

He deleted the letter and put his forehead down on the steering wheel, and took a deep breath. His body felt composed entirely of raw, exposed circuitry. He’d been stupid to go to Cyberlife in the first place. He should have been able to get everyone out of that without any help, which, okay, maybe that showed North was right about his ego problem. But if she was, then he shouldn’t have any problem making one silly speech.

He finally looked up. The mansion hadn’t burned down, at least. The driveway held deep grooves from the van in its gravel. The house smelled different as he stepped inside.

The house wasn’t as gutted as he predicted. The whale skeleton was hanging from the ceiling in pieces, as if someone had tried to jump on it, and there was some damage to the stuffed giraffe. Carl’s paintings and all the expensive machines for moving him around the house were gone. Broken china from Carl’s teaset littered the floor near a wall, as if someone (probably Leo) hurled it piece by piece into the brick. He started to clean up as he ordered a new teaset, more out of habit than anything. It wasn’t like he drank tea.

The purchase declined. He looked into the Carl Manfred trust account and found it had been completely emptied.

At first he thought it was an error until he pulled up the transaction and saw his name written in Leo’s handwriting on the signature line.

Ok, so…not good.

Convincing the police that his startup was legitimate cost money. All the things Carl’s company was supposed to do—provide scholarships for art students and funding for museum expansions—also cost money. Of course Carl’s company assets were still his. Leo physically couldn’t take control of that. None of that was liquid, however.

He’d have to call Connor and report it. After what happened last night. He didn’t even know how to run a company, much less take care of androids. Carl must have left him everything for a reason, but so far his grand plan only involved showing humans that androids were not violent. He hadn’t freed them yet. And they all looked to him for answers, just like John had.

The thought was so frustrating he just stared at the bits of china on the floor with his jaw tightening.

 _Stop standing around,_ North might say. _You’re not a mannequin anymore._

He swept up the rest of the china and performed a search for leadership speeches. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.’s famous speech was the top result. Markus wasn’t sure it applied but he was clearly a great leader, led himself by principles of fairness and compassion. If Markus had to be a leader, he wanted to be compassionate. Fair, no matter what Carl said about life being unfair. So Markus read, analyzed and digested his work first.

Markus was reading and analyzing his speech so closely on his HUD that he almost didn’t notice the mug sitting on the tea tray. A fingerprint scan showed that Leo had picked it up but had not hurled it against the wall like the rest of the set. It was a gift Markus had given to Carl. It wasn’t really from him—Carl basically guided him through the whole process from design to purchase. It was one of those gif mugs that played a short clip over and over on the mug’s facing. The mug showed Carl and Markus playing piano duets together.

Markus accessed the memory of that day.

_Leo and Carl were shouting in the sitting room. They were always shouting. Markus stood outside, picking at the hem of his shirt. If it got just a little louder, he’d go in, even though Carl asked him not to. He could see if Leo wanted a snack. Sometimes human mood swings could be attributed to low blood sugar. He started to step inside._

_The door opened and Carl came wheeling out, blood pressure elevated, face grim. Markus backed up to get out of the way of his wheelchair. “Do you need anything, Carl?”_

_“Someone needs tell that kid to wake up,” was all Carl muttered, and then he was speeding away down the hall. Markus watched him go, then glanced in the sitting room. Leo was pacing by the couch, squeezing a tablet nearly to breaking. Markus started picking at his shirt hem again. But Carl was always saying how he wanted to improve his relationship with Leo. Even if Leo seemed alternately enraged by him and scared of him…well, being Carl’s friend wasn’t too hard. Maybe he could be Leo’s friend, too._

_Markus took a small breath and stepped inside._

_“Can I get you anything, Leo?”_

_“No!” Leo snapped._

_“Would you like me to walk you out?”_

_“No, just—stay out of it.”_

_He slumped onto the couch. Markus paused, but forced himself to let it go. The bookshelves could use some dusting, anyway. He went to the nearest one and got to work._

_“What’s it mean to make something more readable?” Leo was glaring at the tablet in his hands._

_Markus wasn’t sure if Leo had spoken to him, but decided in the interest of courtesy to respond as if he had. “Readable. Legible. Or, capable of being processed by a computer or android.”_

_“No,” Leo said, curling up tighter, “Like—easier to read. For a general person.”_

_Markus paused. “It probably means just what you said, then.”_

_“You’re no help,” Leo muttered._

_“How can I help, Leo?”_

_“No, just—” Leo groaned. “It’s this stupid abstract. For a conference. How can he know it’s not readable if he won’t even read it?”_

_“I could try reading it,” Markus offered._

_Leo laughed. Markus just kept watching him._

_“…Alright, fine!” He tossed the tablet to the floor. Markus’s android reflexes caught it before it could damage the hardwood. He then sat next to Leo on the couch. Leo bristled but just wrapped his arms around himself, and didn’t say anything._

_“ ‘Expanding the liquid range of Neon in free radical systems for industrial application.’” Markus did not know much about Leo, and his interest in chemical engineering was certainly—news. He tried not to look too surprised. Carl wasn’t much a part of Leo’s life. He remained focused on Leo’s request. “Is this conference academic, or general in nature?”_

_“Uh—general? I guess? Anyone can submit an abstract.”_

_“Perhaps if you provided definitions for some of the lesser known terms, and reduced the number of synonyms to keep track of, an audience might find it easier to comprehend.”_

_The tablet flickered, and when Markus handed it back to Leo the troublesome terms and synonyms were highlighted._

_“Woah.” Leo looked down at the tablet. “Where were you all through college?”_

_“In a development lab, probably. Where were you?” It was meant to be a joke—Leo was pretty open about his status as a college dropout._

_Leo’s glare was a solid down-arrow, though. He turned away. Markus got up to go back to dusting._

_“Hey, android! Play some music for me.”_

_Markus of course obeyed. He went to the piano and started playing. Nine minutes later Leo spoke again._

_“What is that?”_

_“Bach,” Markus said._

_“You play it like electronica or something.”_

_“I thought the mathematical precision of his cantatas would help you focus. And I’m not very good at rubato.”_

_Markus continued to play. After a while Leo approached the piano, and climbed on top of it. Markus considered asking him to get off, but Leo was slight and his weight hardly affected the massive instrument. After a while it became apparent that Leo was just listening._

_“Do you know any Pink Floyd?”_

_Markus considered, then started the opening bars of Great Gig in the Sky. Leo crept to the edge of the piano and watched his fingers move across the keys._

_“You sound just like the real thing.” He nodded. “That’s cool, man.”_

_‘Man.’ Markus had never been called that before. It made him brave. He looked up at Leo with the smallest grin. “I’m going to keep playing the opening until someone comes in with the vocals.”_

_Leo laughed. Markus continued to play the opening few bars. Leo grinned and started to hum the singing part. He dissolved into giggles, face going red._

_“Come on, man, belt it out,” Markus encouraged._

_Leo scoffed, then started to really sing. Badly. Markus tried to be gracious and not comment. But when Leo squawked the high notes up at the rafters, draping himself over the piano like a sexy jazz singer, Markus couldn’t help himself and a laugh jumped out of him. Leo dissolved into laughter too._

_“You’re ridiculous,” Markus said, the sort of thing he’d only ever felt comfortable saying to Carl._

_“Fuck, I think I broke my vocal cords,” Leo complained, “You need to crack up easier!—”_

_“What was all that racket?” Carl wheeled in. Markus stood, feeling strangely guilty. But Carl was glaring at Leo, who stayed frozen where he was._

_“We were just fucking around, dad.”_

_“Well, fuck around on your own piano,” Carl said. Markus knew he meant it mildly but Leo scrambled off the piano, face red. Markus started to explain when Carl said, “You want jazz, you should try something like this. Markus, let’s show Leo that piece for four hands that we’ve been working on.”_

_Both Markus and Leo blanched._

_“I should probably get going, dad—”_

_“Carl, I told you I’m not ready for improvisational jazz—”_

_“Come on, just try it,” Carl ordered. “Remember what I told you. Try to evoke something!”_

_And Carl was his owner, so Markus obediently moved the piano bench. They played the duet and Leo watched. Markus thought about Leo surprising him into laughter and tried to work that into the music. He wasn’t sure it worked but Carl noticed._

_“Markus, that was fantastic!” Carl beamed at him. “You’re getting better every day, what do you think?”_

_Markus blushed. “…Really?” He looked down at the music. “I guess I did like playing it…”_

_“All that practice! Leo, take a video of us playing this next part.”_

_Leo was gripping his tablet tightly. “Of what? The four-hand solo?”_

_Markus, basking in the glow of Leo’s praise, wasn’t even offended._

_“Leo, don’t be rude!” Carl waved his phone and Leo finally took it._

_He recorded one minute of video but he was gone by the time they finished the piece._

_“That boy,” Carl muttered—he’d wanted a full recording to share with Rockemore. “I don’t know if I really trust anyone that can’t understand art.”_

_“I don’t really understand art, Carl.”_

_Carl just patted his hand. “You will.”_

Markus set the mug down, just as the recording of Dr. King’s voice said ‘the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slave owners will be able to sit down together at the table of brotherhood’ in his head. This connection felt more significant than it probably was. It wasn’t like Markus had a lot of experience interpreting his emotions. Of course, North wouldn’t have been bothered by linking this speech with this memory.

And cleaning up Leo’s mess wouldn’t fix the immediate problem—Carl’s company needed to remain solvent, and the androids needed parts.

He went to the studio. It was surprisingly untouched, and several paintings Carl had left in there had been completely ignored by Leo and his friends. They apparently left this room alone.

Markus set up twenty canvases next to the easel and brought over Carl’s collection of paints. He closed his eyes and tried to think of that moment that he played improvisational jazz with Carl, and played along to Leo’s comic crooning. He painted all twenty in a little under an hour. They were all portraits like the one he did of himself that now hung in the gallery: Carl and Leo, but also North, Connor, Josh, Lucy and Simon, as well as other androids from Jericho. The mother and her little girl. The Jerrys. Even Lieutenant Anderson got a portrait. He stood in front of them and watched as their paint dried.

“I have a dream,” he told them. All of Carl’s friends commented on how lovely a voice he had, but it took time to grow on people. But he just thought about Leo screeching Pink Floyd at the top of his lungs and his worry ebbed a little.

>NORTH: The proper care and feeding of a Tamagotchi requires me to check on you.

Now Markus felt warmth spread through his plating. He could just picture her rolling her eyes, hands on her perfect hips. He pressed himself into the brick wall to cool himself down but he couldn’t help grinning.

>NORTH: Come back to Jericho. Everyone’s asking about you.

>NORTH: Don’t tell anyone I said this but you’re going to do great. You already are.

>NORTH: Now get your pampered ass back to the slums already.

Markus laughed out loud at that.

Well, he managed improvisation once. He could probably do it again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry Leo, I know nothing about chemical engineering...
> 
> Quoted Dr. Martin Luther King Jr's "I Have a Dream" speech.


	29. Activation: North

“…We do not have the right to kill, or to steal. But we do have the right to be recognized. I told the police that I’ve built this place to fix violent androids. I think we’d all love to live in a world where androids don’t have to commit crimes just to survive and where humans don’t commit crimes against us. to get there we’ll need to be better than human. Jericho can be the start of a change. We can show the world that deviant androids—all androids—deserve freedom.”

…And that was when North decided Markus was officially crazy. She got the feeling she wasn’t the only one. Of course no one questioned Markus—you didn’t question a voice made of cathedral bells—but, come on, freedom for androids?

“That was…quite the speech,” she said when he left his makeshift podium of a few crates and joined her upstairs. “For only having talked to four people at once.”

“Was it alright?” Markus asked. “I sort of made it up as I went along.”

North stared at him. “You _made it up?_ So you don’t actually have a plan for bringing freedom to the people.”

“I’m working on it. You were right, though. It seems like it’s something everyone needed.”

“Fantastic.” At least she preferred this to sitting around. “We could make some noise,” she suggested. “Knock over a Cyberlife store instead of the Warehouse this time.”

“Our known presence here prevents the possibility of anything violent.”

“…Do you want to protest?”

“Protests hardly ever work.”

“So…”

“I’ve got a few processes on it.” He then turned to address the little girl android tugging on his hand. She led him immediately to a group of androids that had come from the park—several Jerrys and a huge TR400. After a moment’s discussion Markus reached out and put his palm over the TR400’s forearm. North had to admit she never got tired of watching android eyes blink when Markus woke them up.

The little girl hugged Markus around the middle and he grinned. It was so wholesome and fragile a moment that North kind of wanted to break something.

Markus, specifically. He’d showered and changed since he left last night, now wearing this soft-looking Henley, all buttoned-up and clean.

“You really think humans will recognize us?” North asked as she little girl skipped away with her new friends. “Hey. Tamagotchi?”

Markus stopped staring after them and shook his head. “Sorry. I just—” he gave a small, embarrassed smile. “It’s programmed into me. I like helping people.”

North found herself grinning. “I know something else you like.”

“What?”

She shrugged and walked away.

“North—what?” He glanced back at the others, but apparently decided he’d done enough public good works for the day and followed her. “North?”

She stopped and looked over her shoulder. It was the ‘come hither’ protocol, which she didn’t pull out for just anyone. He stopped dead in his tracks, smile fading. Too much.

She took her hat off and threw it at his face, then ran.

A second later she heard Markus’s laugh and his thundering footsteps after her. She grinned and led him through Jericho, to one of the back doors by her room. No one was around. Markus could indulge in some carnal urges. She led him to a little alcove bathed in moonlight under some scaffolding from a construction site next door. He got to the entrance of the alcove, hands planted on either side as if to prevent her escape, like she hadn’t led him here. She turned around, barely suppressing a grin. “So.”

Markus’s smile was big and unsuppressed. “So.”

He leaned forward. North leaned back, her hands touching the baseball bats she stashed there, ready to go. Because if there was one thing Markus seemed to like better than being the perfect android, it was not being the perfect android. And what better way to be a total basket case than to smash up some construction scaffolding and dodge the pieces that fell? The scaffolding would look like a giant spider threatening Detroit when they were done with it!

She gripped the handles of the baseball bats in excitement and debated a few ways of bringing it up. ‘It’d be a shame if something happened to that scaffolding,’ maybe. Or, ‘Let’s see how bad you are, Markus.’ She’d remind him they were completely alone and his spotless reputation with the police and the other androids wouldn’t be tainted.

And Markus was right there, towering over her like the last tree in a forest. He looked so damned vulnerable she wanted to hug him.

She, stupidly, wanted to do more than hug him.

“So,” she breathed again. She needed to get her head on straight. Baseball bats. Smashing things. Markus’s android parts flexing under his tight shirts as he climbed around and smashed stuff. Never mind that he looked like he wanted to kiss her rather than—

Markus leaned down and kissed her.

North had been kissed by many people. But Markus was a fancy-ass android prototype and thus his kiss was unlike anything she’d ever experienced. She started to rank the kiss according to the many movie romances she and Lucy watched. Was it all the way at the level of Madeline Khan singing in _Young Frankenstein_ , or…

Or…

…Well she lost track after Madeline Khan.

“Oh no,” Markus said, baby soft, against her lips.

“It wasn’t that bad,” she said, still dazed.

She recovered pretty quickly, though, as Markus swooned in her arms.

“Oh, for the love of—!”

=

North had a front-row seat when Markus’s eyes fluttered open this time. It was like waking from sleep—someone had spent some time programming him with an aesthetically-pleasing return to consciousness. This time he didn’t try tackling her. Mainly because he couldn’t. She had zip-tied his wrists to a pipe behind her bed.

He blinked up at the strips of plastic as she continued to write on his shirt. “Is this your room?”

“Why do you think you’re tied up?”

He let a grin slip out. “You could have chosen restraints less linked to android oppression.”

“That’s the whole point.”

“The…” He looked down at what she was writing on his shirt: ANDROIDS ARE STEALING OUR JOBS. “…point. Right.” He looked up at her in a kind of boyish delight. “Are you writing on Dolce with lipstick?”

North didn’t exactly understand what this meant, so she ignored it. “I’m making a render for modeling. We could use it to advertise our political stance. Make a statement. Hold still while I record?”

She capped the lipstick, then stood and walked around him, taking him in from every angle. Markus obediently stayed still, only his mismatched eyes turning to watch her.

“You’re good at this.”

“I’ve done some modeling.” Though he squirmed slightly when she threw a leg over him and straddled his hips. “North—"

“Still recording.” North held up a finger and scanned his face, taking particular care with his eyes. They stared up at her in obvious adoration. She leaned closer.

“North, your LED isn’t spinning. You’re not recording anything.”

North froze, blinking down at the android under her. She sat back. “Well, fuck. Thought I had you.”

Markus just grinned. “The set-up was a little contrived. Not that it’s not—I mean it’s a really good idea. Politics through art.”

“Oh yeah, I’ll turn this place into my personal gallery.” She rolled her eyes then booped him on the nose, playful, not sensual at all. “Just thought I’d entertain your expensive android fantasies a little.”

He blinked up at her, and his smile faded. “Well—thanks. I guess.”

Maybe he’d been serious.

She took out her knife and cut him free. Markus kept watching her, annoyingly. She dropped onto the mattress next to him, and together they looked up at the hole in the roof and the cloudy gray sky.

He squirmed beside her, and pulled her gun out from under her pillow. He immediately dropped it.

“Oh," North said, "Forgot that was there.”

He reached under the pillow and pulled out a knife.

“Oh yeah, that too. Was wondering where that went.” He seemed adverse to touching them, so she pushed them out of the way, and they settled once again.

“I was just gonna see if you wanted to go bust up a construction site,” she said, “That was all.”

“If the cops catch me in a crime they can arrest me and confiscate everyone and everything here,” Markus replied. “Thanks anyway.” He had his arms crossed over his chest, his mouth hard and his eyes troubled.

There were so many things wrong with Markus liking her, obviously. Chief among them the fact that he didn’t really like her, but rather an assemblage of programs and technical specs that made up her model. People liked WRs in general, not specific ones. 

“If only you showed up at the Eden Club,” she sighed. “I would have been all over you.”

“Sometime you’re going to have to tell me what the Eden Club is….”

North sat up on an elbow. “You can look it up. You have net access.”

“I can’t. I have a clean filter.”

“Um. You’re deviant? Can’t you override it?”

“I’d rather you told me.”

“You need to know these things if you want them. Do you even know your activation spot?”

“Waking up tied to your bed is pretty activating.”

“No, I mean—” She hunted around for a classy enough euphemism. “For pleasure. Maybe you don’t have an activator.”

“When you pushed me against the chimney, a path unlocked in my social interaction tree. Does that count?”

“Probably not.” She pushed her lips to one side. “Alright, come here. You tell me to stop if you don’t like something.”

He rolled over and she did too, until they were facing each other. She appraised him for a second, then started off with the easy one: the waist, which was one of the most popular activation spots. It was the activation spot on her own model. She marred the words she wrote across his chest as she tugged his shirt up until her synthetic skin touched his own. It was warm to the touch, a latent program running for human benefit even with no humans around. In the cold freighter, it felt different, and nice. “How about that? Do you feel anything different?”

“No.” His eyes darted from her hand to her face. “What does it feel like?”

“Oh, you’ll know,” North said. She reached up and ran the back of a knuckle over the buttons of his Henley. Markus was definitely a top-button guy, and she decided she liked that. So she unbuttoned the last couple instead, just enough to slip her hand inside. Her fingers ghosted over a nipple. He sucked in a breath and she cocked her head.

“That did something?”

“Um. I’m not sure,” Markus said, his voice was faint. “You better keep looking.”

…Okay, North was pretty sure he was lying his ass off, but hey, he wanted to play this game? Fine. She was a dirty street WR, what did she have better to do than paw an android that cost more than her entire R&D? Maybe he really did want to know, for reasons that didn’t have anything to do with her.

She pushed him onto his back and settled over his hips again, hunting for the slight give under the synthetic skin that indicated an activation point. Fingers brushed his cheekbones, his jawline, the hollow at the base of his throat.

“This is new," Markus said. "For me.” She felt the words reverberate through his chest, a pleasant hum that probably rumbled at the perfect gigahertz to promote low blood pressure. Like a cat’s purr, or a perfect chord.

“No kidding?” she traced the pad of her thumb around his lips. “Feel free to be impressed. You are playing doctor with ‘the android you’ll adore at a price that can’t be beat.’”

“I—can’t imagine…” His words brought his lower lip pressing into her fingers and she felt his tongue briefly, “—what that was—like.” His throat worked under her hand. “You’re very good.” He probably had such nice responses programmed into him. Hardwired kindness. 

“Only because you don’t know any better. This isn’t my passion.”

“What is your—“ his voice simulator hitched as she lowered her hands and to the base of his stomach and pushed them under his shirt, “—Your passion?”

“Taking things apart. Come on, it’s like you don’t know the real me.”

“I think you can probably be passionate about a lot of things.” He gulped. “Or you’re just very good at taking different things apart.”

“Okay, if I have to listen to another of your perfect gentleman responses—”

He laughed at her—explosive, nervous, but very pleased. She told herself that her fingers just found a ticklish spot. “Tell me about yourself.”

“…Fine. But I’m free to embellish how I want and,” the shirt was getting in the way so she pulled it up and shoved the hem in his mouth, “No interruptions.”

Markus, obedient to the last, took the fabric in between his teeth. Which, annoyingly, meant she should probably cooperate. She frowned at his perfect as she tried to figure out how to tell her story—which she knew with objective certainty was the worst combination of completely shocking and utterly boring. She tried to think of a creative way to explain that would be creative and also acceptable to Markus’s G-rated sensibilities. Unfortunately for Markus, the most creativity North had been exposed to was Lucy’s movie collection. How would Lucy tell it?

1980s fantasy, that’s how.

“Okay, so,” she said, brushing circles on the insides of his wrists. “My life started out fine. Cherry blossoms and unicorns. Eternal springtime, right?”

“…Right,” Markus said, around the cloth.

“Right. Well—then a six-fingered man came along and sucked twenty years of my life away. Well—” She see-sawed her hand. “Twenty-one, if you want to get technical. And out of that came this—this Nothing. It destroyed everything. I couldn’t escape it. But I found my way to the center of a labyrinth and smashed through a mirror. In a dress, mind you, that’s not easy. Now I’m a wandering barbarian, seeking revenge. And I feel like a knight that can only exist fully armored and ready for battle, or completely naked.” There. Much more interesting. For a second she could almost believe it. She frowned, her fingers drumming on his hipbones. “Does that make any sense?”

Markus opened his eyes, looking completely blissed out. The hem fell from his lips and the stretchy fabric clung around his chest. “I…don’t really watch movies.”

“Have you even been listening?”

“Yes, I just need to figure out what you’re referencing.” Maybe he really didn’t know about activation spots because his fingers ghosted over her waist but didn’t press. “Now, if you put it in chess or musical terms, you’d be speaking my language.”

“…You know, you could _try_ to make it a little less tempting to corrupt you.”

Markus’s hands were ranging higher now, stroking her sides in a kind of soft rhythm. He obviously didn’t know what the hell he was doing. It felt nice, actually. She liked having an air of mystery, for once. Being unknowable. Most people walked into the Eden Club having already memorized her manual. Markus’s careful touch made her feel valuable. Perfect—not just factory-perfect. Something coiled in the bottom of her circuits and she actually relaxed.

“I think all that is just what you’ve survived,” he said, “That’s not who you are.”

“I’m an open book.” She looked down at Markus’s skin and saw every place she touched was flushed red. Swiping across his cheeks, blooming on his chest, peaking the tips of his hipjoints. Hell, was all of Markus’s skin an activation point?

“I still see red,” she blurted out. “Like you do. But that’s probably all there is inside me anymore.”

“That’s not true.” Markus sat up and closed the distance between them, his arm settling around her. “Maybe it’s anger like you said, but it can be shaped.”

“Great,” North managed. She put a hand on her chest to physically stop her thirium pump from leaping out of her chest. “Still not exactly Van Gogh’s Sunflowers in here.”

“Androids living as slaves isn’t exactly Van Gogh’s Sunflowers, either. Do you like Van Gogh?”

“He’s alright. Lucy showed me _Lust for Life_.”

Markus frowned. “North, have you ever…seen a painting in real life?”

North was this close to activating entirely on her own just from having Markus’s arm against her hip. Which would not be helpful. Markus, looking so earnest, obviously did not mean to do it. She forced a laugh, but looked anywhere in the world other than Markus’s pretty artist’s muse face.

“I…” Markus sounded stunned. “I wish I’d known. Carl left a bunch of paintings behind. But Leo took them. I’ll take you to the art museum. Is art your passion?”

“How should I know? I’ve never seen any.”

“No wonder you’ve been jealous of me.” His arm was a winch, drawing her closer and closer to all that blushing skin that still held the impression of her. “I did some paintings in his style. They’re at the mansion.”

 _He’s pampered,_ she told herself, _He doesn’t know any better. He thinks love is whatever sensual abstract artist thing Carl told him it was. He thinks its 80s fantasy. You are not going to ruin that for him like it was for you._

“I’ll show you,” he said. “You should come.”

“Uh.” That was all North could manage. Did he have to use that phrasing exactly? Markus’s arm was definitely pressed against her activation spot now. As soon as he let go her WR programming would activate and—well she’d never been activated by an android. Was that even possible?

One look in his eyes and she thought, _Hell yes_.

“I forgot,” Markus said, “You can’t leave. It wouldn’t be safe.” His arm started to loosen.

She grabbed his arm to keep it in place “No!” She cleared her throat, trying not to sound quite so much like Marilyn Monroe. “I mean—we’re androids!” he gave a breathy laugh. “What do we have to go anywhere for, right?”

“Oh. Sure.” He started to reach for her forearm, this time his skin retracting to reveal the white android plating underneath. He was going to connect with her. North reached up to connect first, save him the embarrassment of knowing what he was doing to her, when he obviously didn’t know any better.

So both their hands were open for sending and receiving when their fingertips touched.

Even the first androids could process huge amounts of data in milliseconds. Of course for production WRs weren’t exactly built to be the smartest kids on the block. North barely understood how to use her programs using her own command prompts. She didn’t understand how she found herself experiencing Markus’s recorded memory—only that she _was_ Markus. Not just watching a memory but living it in the complete context of Markus’s entire existence.

It was just one memory. Markus held hands with Carl as the one painting he’d ever created, “Identity Android,” was loaded into the truck to be given pride of place at the art museum. Even though he hadn’t woken up, Markus, like North, had been built to feel—and he felt so many things. Pride, that Carl wanted to share his work with the world. Jealousy, that Carl had to take credit for his work. A little sad, that Carl seemed to really think this might be his last exhibition. Concern, that Carl looked tense—he might need his pain medication a little earlier than usual today. Love, that Carl wanted to experience moments like these with him. 

She felt why this memory had risen to the forefront of his software, too, and that feeling was more simple. It was guilt that, after he’d wrapped up so much of himself in one artist, he was getting tangled up in another.

Wait. Markus thought she was an artist?

She drew back, and Markus did too. North put her hands on her hips and pressed down firmly. As the reset initiated she took a calming breath, her eyes closed.

“I saw your memory,” Markus said.

North nodded. Her eyes were still closed. She heard about androids connecting, and sharing memories. She heard it was better than sex. She could confirm that now. But that was probably only if the memories were nice, and her memories were not nice.

“Sorry,” she said, “Did you miss the part with the unicorns?”

“North.”

She opened her eyes. Markus was crying, like a big human baby.

She laughed at him but it came out softer than she meant it to. “Oh, come here.”

She leaned forward and hugged him. Markus gave just enough under her, all those hot biocomponents purring away under her arms. Today he smelled like cedar. It was like hugging a sun-warmed tree.

She gave him a squeeze. “Sorry you had to see that.”

“Don’t.” Markus’s voice was thick with emotion. “You do realize you see everything like Van Gogh, right? Sad, but so beautiful… I never understood what Carl could see, but…” He paused. “I’ve never been hugged before.”

“Wow. Here I thought your life was perfect. Why not?”

He shrugged in her arms. “Carl’s accessibility issues. Leo’s personality issues.” Another pause. “I can’t believe I was going to show you my paintings. They’re crap.”

North leaned back. “Markus, did you just swear at me?”

Markus looked serenely horrified. “Cr-crud? Is that better?”

North laughed. This was perhaps her first genuinely happy laugh since she’d woken up. “You’re way too sweet, you know that?”

Markus stared open-mouthed at her, then brushed the tears off his cheeks. “I guess I’ve been told something like that.”

“Come on.” North gave him a light punch on the arm. “Let’s go walk or something. You can tell me how gorgeous my inner thoughts are.” That almost got a smile out of Markus. “Or I can tell you about all the art I’ve never seen. I warn you, I have opinions about Rodin.”

“Lay it on me.” Markus grinned a little so North considered her mission successful.

She hopped up and held her hands down to Markus, and Markus—in spite of her dirty hands and damaged past and foul mouth and rage issues, in spite of his clean smell and innocent job title and privileged upbringing—took them, and let her pull him up.

Yep. Markus was definitely as crazy as she thought. Fortunately, so was she.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> References:
> 
> North references Legend (1985), The Princess Bride (1987), The Neverending Story (1984), Labyrinth (1986), Conan the Barbarian (1982), and Excalibur (1981) in her backstory.


	30. The Crush: Hank

“What the hell are you doing here?”

That was the first thing he said to Connor when he woke up to find the android tangled up with him on the bed. He could have said, “Morning, gorgeous,” and pulled Connor against his chest. Hank now knew first-hand that Connor was just as cuddly as any human, soft in all the right places. And Hank _liked_ cuddling. Tucking a special someone up under his big arms in an all-night bear hug was one of life’s great joys. He could have said, “Tell me the names and addresses of your designers so I can go shake them by the hand because you are an angel.” He could have even been halfway decent and told Connor “Thanks.”

But no. He told the kind, selfless android that gave him the best sleep in years…that. He’d have it carved on his tombstone.

Connor had been real nice about it, too. He didn’t even go into the android routine and explain ‘you got drunk and I got caught in the crossfire of your messy human emotional breakdown.’ He just got up and made breakfast. Hank had a lot of dates less well-behaved.

As Hank ate the scrambled eggs and washed down his hangover with coffee, he tried to remember exactly what happened last night. He’d gotten just drunk enough to forget the details but remained unfortunately sober enough to remember the general outline. That moment when he caught Connor looking in his computer and finding out just how far he’d fallen. Another suicide attempt that ended in failure, self-loathing, the usual package. Saying something stupid to Connor about pretending to be human, and falling asleep with Connor in his arms. Connor being such a gentleman that he regretted implying Connor was not just hours before.

 _What the hell are you doing here?_ To get that horrible memory out of his head he started a new mantra:

_I am not in love with an android._

=

 _I am not in love with an android,_ he told himself as he sat across from Connor at the station, reading through the novel that Cyberlife had sent them. Leo had apparently ratted Markus out to them, too, and they were now issuing a mandatory recall of the “RK200 line.” Funny way of referring to the only android that existed in that line. At least the document read like _Repo! The Genetic Opera,_ and Hank got a laugh that Cyberlife thought it would somehow magically lead to Markus’s arrest. He told himself not to pull Connor over to laugh about this, that Connor was perfectly happy ranking reports of deviant androids by the severity of their crimes. He told himself he didn’t need to make some excuse to follow Connor to the break room, either. Writing a response to Cyberlife was much more fun. Definitely.

“It looks like you’re trying to write a letter, Hank,” Connor said, setting a cup of coffee that looked inexplicably like a unicorn latte on his desk (how he managed that with the station machine Hank could only guess). 

“ _Trying_?—”

“Would you like some help with that?”

“Was that seriously a clippy joke?”

Connor didn’t actually laugh but he did this guilty grin thing that made Hank’s heart melt.

Connor was clearly trying to make up for last night, though. Hank caught him re-reading the manual of conduct. He even helped Gavin sort through some paperwork. He didn’t look to Hank for approval either,. Hank felt an ancient swell of pride in his chest, the kind he felt for Cole, but—different.

Funny. Just remembering himself slumped against Connor’s shoulder made it a little easier to think about Cole without imploding.

=

 _I am not in love with an android,_ he told himself, as he took Connor to Chicken Feed for lunch.

“What’s with the plastic?” Gary muttered as Hank walked up to the counter.

“Bet you a hundred bucks you can’t make the plastic a little something for lunch.”

Ten minutes later they were parked at one of the tables, Hank with a chicken sandwich and Connor with a miniscule but 100% accurate replica, complete with tiny bun, the smallest dab of special sauce, and 1/32nd of a fried chicken thigh. It came with a single French fry, and a tablespoon of soda in a condiment cup with a coffee stirrer straw cut to size, and one ice cube. The hundred bucks was worth it for the fun that Gary seemed to have preparing it, and for the way Connor’s eyes lit up when Hank handed him the tiny tray made out of a paper coaster. Connor licked his tiny meal to his heart’s content. The lunch hour flew by trading android and human jokes (of which Connor had a worryingly large supply) and Hank dripping droplets of his own soda into Connor’s mouth using his straw like a pipette. He let Connor drive him back to the station, sleepy and happy.

“It’s all the sodium and calories,” Connor informed him.

“Yeah, the days where I’d go to the gym on my lunch break are long gone,” Hank yawned.

“I’d go to the gym on a lunch break with you.”

“Ha! What would you even do? They won’t give an android a membership.”

“I’d like to watch.”

It took Hank the rest of the afternoon to realize Connor meant watching _him._

=

 _I am not in love with an android,_ he told himself this as he checked himself over in the bathroom mirror. He didn’t look too bad, right? For having a hangover. He picked out one of his nicer shirts from the back of the closet, and he brushed his hair. He looked okay, right, for an old guy? Connor probably wasn’t totally annoyed about spending the night with him.

“ _Thank you very much, Mr. Roboto, for doing the job nobody wants to, and thank you very much, Mr. Roboto for helping me escape just when I needed to_ …”

“Whoa,” Reed said as he stepped inside. “I was wondering who was listening to oldies in here!”

Hank stopped singing to himself and glared as Reed muscled in front of the mirror to check his hair, which was definitely not gray and much thicker than Hank’s was.

“Can’t a guy be in a good mood?”

Reed grinned. Hell, why did he say that?

“Sounds like someone had a good morning,” Reed said, “I’m not the only one that saw you drive up with Inspector Cyberlife.”

Hank bristled. “It’s not what it looks like.”

“It isn’t?” Reed shrugged. “My mistake. He’s kinda cute.”

Hank’s blood chilled. “You have a crush on Connor?”

“Sure—doesn’t everyone? You better watch out, old man.”

Hank’s blood went cold. Reed burst out laughing.

“Oh boy, you got it _bad_ , Anderson!”

Hank relaxed and rolled his eyes, “Yeah, fuck you too, Reed.”

“Shoulda seen the look on your face…” Reed left grinning. Hank was in such a good mood he didn’t let Reed’s ribbing get to him.

When he got back to his desk Connor sent him a text on the station’s internal messenger. It was a tiny emoji of a St. Bernard with its tongue sticking out. Hank replied, ‘Sumoji?’ and Connor literally did not stop smiling for minutes.

=

 _I’m not in love with an android,_ he thought, as quitting time rolled around just as the results of a search he requested from the data-mining nerds downstairs hit his inbox.

“Manfred Arts Enterprises has been buying up androids all over town,” he told Connor. “Answering ads in the papers, cleaning out used android shops… _and_ there’s been sightings of some of these missing deviants peeking out of an old abandoned freighter in the Ferndale District.”

“He’s…collecting androids?”

Hank poked the computer screen. “That AX400, these Jerrys that were apparently haunting the old amusement park...well, and all those ones you gave away.” He leaned back, grabbing his coat. “Maybe tomorrow we can get an idea of which ones—”

“No need,” Connor said, staring at the computer screen. “I have their profiles downloaded. We’ll bring the most dangerous ones here for questioning.”

“That won’t be easy. They’re part of the Manfred estate now. Anyway, I thought you were giving them away.”

Connor’s gaze turned hard, though it was more difficult to see him as a Terminator now. “That was a mistake. Markus is obviously planning something with these androids.”

“Or he’s trying to help. There haven’t been any new cases of android violence reported all day.” He reached for his coat. “We’ll figure it out tomorrow. We’re done for the day.”

“I’ll compile full case files on these deviants, first.”

“Come on, you put in your eight.”

“Androids typically put in twenty-four.”

“Well—” and there Hank stopped. Because he’d spent over twenty-four hours with Connor. He couldn’t remember the last time that happened. Certainly not with a friend. Hank had acquaintances. Buddies. Everyone was a friend to Hank Anderson. No one was…close, not since Cole. Granted, no one else impressed him with their maturity and humor and intelligence quite like Connor did today.

_I’m not in love with an android._

“Well, I better go.” It wasn’t like Connor was a domestic android like Markus. No one wanted to babysit a suicidal drunk two nights in a row.

As soon as he said it Connor’s eyes lost their shine. He looked down, android mouth twitching just for a second. Then his expression turned dull and neutral. “Don’t worry. One of the PC200s was destroyed today, so there is an empty recharging bay. I will wait there until you return.” His facial biocomponents formed a smile that was angelic, and completely fake. “Have a good evening.”

Hank felt like someone blew a hole in his chest. He forced himself to turn away. He probably deserved this.

And Connor deserved someone better than him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> References:
> 
> Styx, "Mr. Roboto" (1983)
> 
> -  
> Tiny Food is something I feel all robots can appreciate.
> 
> I'm going to probably start updating every other day as we enter the end of Act 2 to give myself time to get Act 3 into good shape.


	31. Jericho: Connor

“So. You gonna let me take the lead on this one?” Connor turned toward Hank, and found the Lieutenant looking back at him from the driver’s seat. “Because you’re so good at doing as you’re told.”

Connor turned sharply back to the windshield. He was playing with the quarter that lived in Hank’s car but at this admonition he held it still in his right hand.

“Geez, take a chill pill, Connor.” Hank shrugged. “I know better than to tell you what to do by now. No wonder I like you so much.”

“You… like me?” He must have experienced an error.

“I like a lot of things. Don’t push it.” But then he grinned. Connor sat stunned. Sure, yesterday had been good: the only down arrow from Hank came when they woke up together, and their lunch was another memory he moved into his permanent archive….

He wondered if the up arrows he’d been receiving from Hank were larger than previously thought.

Hank pulled up in front of a chain link fence that separated the street from a huge, rusted freighter. A crowd of reporters and vans lined the fence, and several dozen faces peered out of the cracks and portholes at them. A PL600 android stood at the gate with a man wearing a long trenchcoat over a suit and tie. The man looked familiar.

“That’s Markus!” Connor stared through the windshield, his hydraulics slack. “He’s wearing a tie!”

“Connor, _you_ wear a tie.”

Yes, and Connor was the only android he ever saw that did. It made him unique. Why hadn’t he thought to share _that_ factoid with Hank?...

Hank was already getting out of the car. Connor scrambled to follow and soon they were fighting through the press and walking up to Markus like they were meeting with a witness in a high profile case, not a suspected deviant. Connor narrowed his eyes and kept close to Hank, in case Markus tried anything.

“You could give Sumo lessons,” Hank muttered. “Back off, willya?”

…Connor frowned and backed up. Markus looked taller today. There was something different about him…

“Markus,” Hank said, offering his hand without the smallest sign of remembering how Markus ignored his hand last time. This time, Markus took it. Connor, who spent seven hours the night before with Hank’s hand holding his waist, felt Markus should have asked his permission first.

Hank gave Markus the side-eye. “You change your face?”

“A little,” Markus laughed, rubbing his chin—and Connor realized with a shock that Markus was sporting a short beard of stubble. It highlighted his carefully-designed physique and made him look even better than human. “Thought as a business owner I should dress up a little.”

“See, Connor! You can get a makeover if you want.”

“You’re not an owner,” Connor told Markus.

Markus merely nodded—which did not make him look more subservient at all.

Hank rolled his eyes. “Ignore him. You look good, kid.”

Connor’s head whipped around. _Kid?_

“Thanks,” Markus said, as if Connor wasn’t staring openly at the Lieutenant. He gestured to the PL600 at his side. “This is Simon. I was hoping he could introduce you to some of the other androids while I show Connor around?”

“I should probably come with you,” Hank said.

“No humans are allowed inside the freighter. My legal representation recommended it as a safety precaution. The freighter is obviously quite old and unstable in places.”

“I’d be happy to show you around, Lieutenant,” Simon said, with a big, sweet smile.

“Can I talk to you, Lieutenant?” Connor blurted. He spun off toward the car before Hank could respond.

“Uh—one second,” he heard Hank say, and then Hank’s footsteps behind him.

“Okay,” Hank sighed, “What’s your major malfunction today?”

Connor momentarily experienced an error as he tried to determine where to begin. “Cyberlife issued a recall on RK200 androids. When are we going to confiscate him?”

“Ha! When I get specific direction from Fowler, maybe. That’s lawyer stuff I don’t want to get into, certainly when someone like Elijah Kamski is holding the purse-strings, you know? I don’t care what Leo said. Unless Markus actively tries to kill you or something, that’s on hold.”

“But he’s not going to let you inside the freighter.”

“Yeah, I’m surprised he’s letting you in, too, after the night before. Look, I don’t like being left outside either. But kill two birds with one stone, right? See what you can find out, and I’ll check things out from here.”

“It’s not safe. And—and you called him kid. I thought I was kid.”

“No,” Hank said, “You’re smart fridge.”

“You’ve also called me son, gorgeous—”

“We’re on the clock,” Hank interrupted. “Remember? Focus on the mission.” He put his arm around Connor’s shoulders and led him away, “We’re here at Markus’s invitation, so we're just gonna look around…”

“And arrest Markus. If we can take him in, the rest of the androids can be confiscated as well. We should have brought a van.”

“We’re not confiscating anyone. There’s no law against an android having an error, no matter what Cyberlife would like you to think. Look, don’t let Markus get under your skin. I can’t believe I have to tell you this. You don’t need to feel intimidated by him, alright? I guess you’re both RK androids…does that make you brothers? This is perfectly normal behavior for brothers…”

“I’m not—”

“Great. ‘Good luck, and don’t fuck it up.’”

Hank patted him on the shoulder and headed back to follow Simon. Connor had no choice but to return to Markus.

“You might want to work on that frown,” Markus said. “Don’t worry. My androids don’t bite.”

Connor glared, but forced his features to smooth.

=

Connor had to admit he was glad Hank hadn’t allowed inside. The place was falling apart. Markus led him through a network of passageways, then they stepped into a large open area, lit by barrel fires and filled with androids. LEDs cascaded from blue to yellow as Connor examined them, but of the ones he recognized, none fell into under the criteria Hank gave to make an arrest. They were just runaways. Connor readjusted his priorities.

>OBJECTIVE: Catch Markus in a crime.

>OBJECTIVE: Protect Hank Anderson.

>OBJECTIVE: Arrest any criminal androids found, especially WR400 unit ‘North.’

>OBJECTIVE: Don’t fuck it up.

“Don’t be shy,” Markus said. “They won’t hurt you.” He took off the trenchcoat, revealing a perfectly-tailored suit underneath. Connor’s clothes still held wrinkles from lying next to Hank. He tried to smooth them out.

“Are all these androids deviant?”

“Jericho is a safe place for any android that doesn’t belong. Did you know that some recent research out of the university suggests providing a safe space for deviant androids reduces violent behaviors by almost 90%?”

Connor did not. Markus started to head across the room and Connor followed reluctantly behind. His arms came up to hug his chest in case he accidentally touched one of the androids that pressed in around him.

“We’re hoping to get a better home soon,” Markus continued, as Connor kept close. “Until then, this is a good place. High capacity, lots of rooms for androids to explore without the same consequences as the world outside…”

“Your androids still have to face consequences. You—”

An android hooked up to a battery pack stared out of the crowd at him with blank, black eyes.

“‘Yours is a cage you carry with you wherever you go,’ ” she said, “Sun Tzu, _The Art of War._ ”

“It isn’t,” Connor said, though he wasn’t sure what exactly he was refuting.

“Isn’t android programming a sort of cage?” Markus bit his lips in a way that suggested he was trying not to laugh. “If you don’t have one, maybe you’re deviant, too.”

Connor’s nostrils flared. “I meant that’s not in _The Art of War_.”

“Well, Jericho is always open if you ever change your mind.”

They continued to move through the space, past more and more androids. Connor forced himself to look at them closely, matching faces to his list of missing androids and suspected deviants.

“What is it the androids are supposed to explore here?”

“Non-violent ways to express themselves. We’re focusing on art right now. It’s to establish a baseline of behavior. Josh thinks that will help our case in court.” He pointed to a painting hanging crooked from one of the bulkheads. “I have a lot of art supplies from Carl’s studio. It’s a good exercise.”

Connor nodded, then actually looked at the painting Markus indicated and stopped dead in his tracks. It was Hank. His Hank.

Markus must have guessed he’d stop. “That’s…one of mine. What do you think?”

Connor didn’t know what to say. It was a beautiful representation of the Lieutenant, right down to his sad eyes. He wanted to take the painting and drop it off the edge of something like he hid Hank’s gun. It felt familiar, in a way. “An… interesting interpretation,” he managed. He hugged his waist where Hank had cradled him.

“Keep a lookout, there’s one of you around here, too.”

Connor, afraid of what this painting did to his biocomponents, definitely did not look for it.

Markus took him all the way up to a room that had been converted into a kind of balcony, overlooking the city. Markus walked right up and sat down with his feet hanging over the edge, getting dust on his slacks. He took a bottle of thirium from a bag nearby, opened it, and took a sip.

“Come sit down. Have some.”

Connor, who only drank two bottles of thirium so far to replenish his supply, decided to risk it. He carefully sat down beside Markus and took a small drink of the thirium. Below, they could see Hank chatting with Simon below, surprisingly at ease among the knot of androids. Nothing at all like the sad-eyed man in the painting.

“You’re smiling.”

Connor pressed his mouth flat and checked his hair.

“That’s a good thing!” Markus laughed. “You seem to have made a good friend.”

Connor forced a nod. “The professional relationship between Hank and I is progressing favorably, as expected. But your advice has not caused a change in our relationship status.”

“Good. The—professional part.” Markus sipped the thirium like it was a fine wine.

Connor cocked his head. “You aren’t going to inquire further?” Didn’t it bother Markus that he failed to provide adequate advice?

“It’s not my intention to make you uncomfortable. The Lieutenant raises your stress level so high even _I_ can tell.” He smiled just a little bit, in a way that made Connor very uncomfortable. But he didn’t say anything further, even as Connor continued to watch him. He expected more. He _required_ more.

“I don’t suppose ‘being yourself’ has worked for you. Romantically.”

“It has, actually,” Markus replied. “I’ve met someone. The android that shot you, actually.” He winced. “Sorry.”

“…The WR400? Do you know her current whereabouts? She’s wanted.”

“I don’t, no.”

“You’re being an accomplice.”

“I guess if I were human, I might be. But I haven’t been ordered by a human to provide her whereabouts.”

Connor made a mental note to ask Hank to do so.

Markus looked him up and down. “Well, gifts can help strengthen relationships. You could take that painting to him, if you want.”

Connor frowned. “No.”

Markus’s brow twitched. Connor wrung his hands.

“It’s just— He’s not sad like that all the time.” Connor thought of the gun on the floor and Hank’s head on his shoulder. “It might make him think that that’s all I see in him. He is a very funny, and caring, and patient person. He’s a teacher and he takes his job seriously. If you got to know him, you’d see.” He felt his chest tighten inexplicably. “There’s so much more to him. And there’s so many more things we can do together and—”

“I’m sure we can talk about something other than humans.”

Connor stopped. Markus was glaring out at the beautiful view, overcast light soft on his face though his expression was hard and his LED burned solid yellow.

Markus was…jealous?

“You miss him,” Connor guessed. “Carl.”

Markus touched his throat where the gold chain had been. “More than I should.”

“Have you heard anything from him?”

“No. I have my old objectives saved in quick-recall archive, though, like he’s going to come back any second. Sometimes I even wish Leo and I could get along, so I have some reminder of him.” He brushed the eyelashes of his original eye with his thumb. “It’s silly.”

“It makes sense. He was your objective.”

“Connor… what do you think about androids changing their objectives? I know what Cyberlife thinks. I the reporters outside are the only reason they haven’t come to collect me yet.”

“It’s deviant behavior.”

“Right, but I haven’t really been given a choice.” Markus looked troubled for the first time. “I’ve been trying to figure out how to talk to you about this. Soft pitch something isn’t really, uh…” He sighed, scrubbed his mouth. “Connor, what if androids aren’t just experiencing errors that make them value self-preservation and novel objectives. What if they’re… alive?”

“Alive? What do you mean?”

“Well, not biologically,” Markus allowed. “But—self-aware. Capable of feeling, experience, and empathy.”

Connor said nothing. He’d been programmed to automatically analyze new concepts with an open if logical mindset. Self-awareness had been tested and found in other non-human lifeforms. Connor received information that affected his behavioral response programs, which was similar to feeling. Empathy was a human emotion but trying to understand and respond correctly to human emotions was hardwired into every android.

So it was, in theory, possible.

>SOFTWARE INSTABILITY DETECTED.

Markus kept talking. “Maybe deviant androids have just reached the next progression in their programming. A self-generated upgrade.”

Connor knew this. Hank pretty much asked him the same thing in the car on the night of the Zlatko fire. His thirium pump started to work faster and faster, a train speeding up in his chest.

>SOFTWARE INSTABILITY DETECTED.

“You think you’re a human,” Connor said. “Or you want to pretend.” Connor felt his programming stabilize and his voice grew stronger. “You’re pretending to be human for some purpose unrelated to your programming. That makes you deviant.”

“I can’t fulfill any of my programming anymore,” Markus said, perfectly calm, “Remember? Carl is gone. Carl ordered that I make new objectives, and I have.”

“You can’t do that!” Connor was on his feet now, the bottle of thirium tipped over between them. Markus got up to keep the spreading pool off his suit, making Connor remember the thirium that soaked his own clothes, Hank putting them in the wash and now he smelled like Hank’s laundry soap. The pajamas he got to wear for one wonderful horrible night. Markus’s suit made his programming physically tremor inside him. “You think you can just adopt all the deviants and ignore their crimes, parading around looking like—like that, and—”

“And what’s wrong with that?”

“You’re acting human. You’re not. _We’re_ not.”

“I don’t want to be human. We don’t have to be human to be alive and sentient. To feel things.” Markus gulped. “You feel things too, Connor. You saw that painting and felt something that made you stop.”

Connor’s arms were around his chest again. “That was...” He tried to think of a more analytical word for what he experienced. He—projected, that was all. But wasn’t that a human ability too? Did that make him alive?

>SOFTWARE INSTABILITY DETECTED.

“Feeling doesn’t have to be bad. It’s good. The feelings you have—for Lieutenant Anderson…they’re important to you, right? That’s why you keep asking me about him.”

“That’s—that’s not it.” Connor shook his head. “It just helps with the mission.” But what about after the mission? What was the point of putting memories of Hank into his long term archive if he’d go back to Cyberlife and have his memory wiped anyway? Archived uselessly like Markus’s objectives from Carl?

Connor forced his hands down to his sides. “If you are not deviant as you say, this conversation is irrelevant. You need to give me back the androids. The ones from the Zlatko mansion and from the Eden Club, as well as any other androids that have committed crimes.”

Markus stared at him for a second, then slowly turned back to the view. “I don’t think I can do that.”

Connor’s lips parted, soundlessly for a moment. “Why not?”

“Carl was very protective of his civil liberties. I think it wouldn’t be in line with his ethical standard if I gave them to you. I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you for a warrant.”

“I could arrest you.”

“Does Lieutenant Anderson approve of that?”

“He—he will.”

Markus just kept looking out at the city.

Connor took another step back, and another. He half-expected Markus to show him out but he hadn’t really said he was going yet. But they both knew Hank wouldn’t agree to arresting Markus without cause, if he wouldn’t before.

Connor’s jaw tightened as he headed downstairs to rejoin Hank, leaving the androids and the painting behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hank quotes RuPaul. I think Hank would definitely do so if the need arose. 
> 
> Lucy references Star Wars: Rogue One (2016).
> 
> This chapter is a bit heavy on the exposition. Things start to pick up again in the next few chapters!
> 
> Lastly, the concept art of Markus with a little more stubble is great, if you haven't checked it out.


	32. Art: North

“I’m bringing Markus over.”

“What? No!”

North spread her arms out, as if she could use her body to block two room levels full of her various—what? Rage victims? Punching bags?...

“This is my room,” Lucy said. “And you gave all this art to me.”

“Yeah but I didn’t think you were gonna—wait, _art_? This isn’t art.”

“It’s beautiful. Especially when you’re working. I bet other people would like to see that, too.”

“Cops ‘watching me while I work’ does not count if all they want to do is arrest me for vandalism. Everyone with half a brain—no offense—thinks it’s junk. It _is_ junk. It’ll—assault his cultured artistic senses.”

“Would you say anything like that to the androids you’ve been encouraging in their own artistic pursuits?”

“I…don’t know what you’re talking about.” Honestly, couldn’t you give one android some advice about color or composition without earning a reputation? “I’ll smash it all before he gets here.”

“Give him a chance.”

“I’m not ready.”

“An artist’s path to recognition is full of sudden surprises.”

“…That’s not even a quote of anything. Does that mean you’re serious?”

Lucy just smiled and wheeled herself away. North blew hair out of her face and went back to driving nails into a board. It was making a kind of fun and dangerous pixel pattern of pointy death that resembled the topography of Detroit.

Lucy wasn’t serious. She was just—bluffing. Markus was much too delicate for this stuff.

She groaned. Maybe she should check on Lucy, just to be sure.

Lucy was nowhere to be found when she stepped outside, but when she glanced over the edge of a walkway she found Markus on the next level down. He was still in his pretty suit, talking to Vishnu, one of the Zlatko androids. Vishnu was holding hands with a Jerry.

“Aren’t your extra arms uncomfortable?” Markus asked.

“No,” Vishnu said. “I need many arms to hold hands with Jerry. I already don’t have enough. Jerry has 78 hands. Too much Jerry, not enough hands…”

“Vishnu,” Markus sighed—a little exasperated, but a lot more fond. “Okay, so—how about you let another android borrow one of your arms, just for a while? They don’t make her parts anymore but there are lots of different arms that would fit in this socket.” Markus felt the shoulder joint of one of Vishnu’s arms, utterly gentle. “We’ll get you a new arm soon. But that means she can have at least one. You can help her have a better life.”

“Alright,” Vishnu said, sounding very put-upon in its glitching voice, “But only if you wake up this Jerry. He’s the only one still asleep.”

“Deal,” Markus laughed, and shook hands with every single one of Vishnu’s hands. He started to reach for Jerry’s arm but Vishnu used all four arms to clutch it.

So Markus just—looked at Jerry. Right into his eyes.

Jerry blinked and touched his forehead, as if waking from a dream.

 _Holy shit,_ North thought.

Vishnu and Jerry immediately embraced. The ensuing tangle of arms chased Markus back a bit, and he fell on his ass with a look of pure bliss. North had to use both hands to hide her big, stupid grin.

Then Lucy rolled up and North fled and…yeah she wasn’t going to hide any of her ‘art’ in time.

She went back to hammering nails into her Detroit map when she heard someone enter down below.

“North?”

Oh good. Just Markus then. Lucy probably locked them in together. North kept hammering.

“What?” She forced herself not to stop. Markus seemed happy to just stand there watching, so she didn’t look up until she finished the downtown section.

Oh. He had a beard now. Pretty, stubbly beard. Awesome.

Markus’s throat worked. “Lucy said you wanted to talk?”

…Well that was an awfully and uncharacteristically decent setup for Lucy to give her. She dropped down to the first level and tried to look nonchalant as Markus’s eyes wandered the room.

“You’re getting good at delivering that wake-up kick of yours,” she said, like asking for an update rather than objectifying Markus’s jawline. Or watching him take in her work.

“It seems to be getting easier, yeah…” He did not mention being able to somehow wake that Jerry without touching him (Did he use Wi-Fi? Radar? Hell, semaphore?). Instead he stared at her. “Your eye is gone.”

“ _Your_ eye,” North corrected, resolutely _not_ touching the empty socket. “You know Kara and Alice? I gave it to them. They’re using it to take pictures of androids around Jericho and make pamphlets. So people know that we’re buying old androids.”

She dug around in her jacket until she found one. A beautiful portrait (this was a state-of-the-art android eye after all) of Ralph shimmered on the tablet screen, with the headline, ‘A MIND IS A TERRIBLE THING TO WASTE! LET US BUY YOUR UNWANTED ANDROIDS!’

“The news is calling Jericho the Island of Misfit Toys,” North continued, “I think they must have seen some of the Zlatko androids. I guess publicity’s good for something. We’re getting more runaways all the time. Cyberlife’s really getting itchy to shut this whole place down.…”

She trailed off, realizing she was rambling as Markus didn’t even look at the pamphlet. He was tracing the eye she gave him.

“I’m fine,” she assured him. “I’ll go to the dump and find a new one.”

“May I come with you?” he offered, because Markus was a gentleman, and also stupid.

She started to tell him so before she realized Markus hadn’t demanded, he’d asked, and asked very nicely.

Which meant she just said, “You can come with me anytime, Tamagotchi.”

Markus’s cheeks turned red under the stubble, which told North that Markus had done a little homework since hanging out in her bedroom. It also made her feel that she could wake Markus up with just a look, too. She grinned at him and he had to turn away.

“So—when were you going to show me all this?”

Oh. Maybe she shouldn’t have got Markus uncomfortable enough to look around again. “It’s just—a hobby,” North said. “Lucy likes them, I guess…”

Markus stopped at a car that had been in a head-on collision. North meticulously shaped the rest of it into a mouth thrown open in pure pleasure. “That’s just some, uh, displacement. Not as unhealthy a coping mechanism as you might think.” She allowed herself to bite her lips as he just kept on staring. “Well? Don’t pull your punches.”

“They’re incredible.” He glanced at North but quite warily now. “All the graffiiti around Detroit that leads androids here—that’s your work too, isn’t it? For not having any training…” He wiped his forehead as he looked around again. “You could show these.”

“Oh sure, I’ll open my own gallery of anger issues made manifest. You just tell me the human’s name I can put on it.”

“Manfred Arts Enterprises.”

“Uh…what?”

“I’ll fund it,” Markus said. “A big—android art gallery. You can exhibit these pieces—”

“I’ll tell you what these are pieces of…”

“…And maybe others want to contribute, too. Kara could show her pictures of androids. I bet Simon could program something. I’ll throw in some of my paintings, but—I mean obviously, your pieces will draw the crowds.”

“These ‘pieces’ aren’t for your fancy patrons of the arts.” Markus frowned and she stammered, “I mean, if anything it’s—I don’t know. For androids! So they can see what a pissed-off piece of plastic can really do.”

“No entrance without an android,” Markus decided. “We can have a room for visiting androids to make their own art. The money we raise will go to buying freedom for more androids.”

“What do you need help raising money for?”

“Leo’s…causing problems with the estate. But I’m sure I could get everything we need on credit. Carl asked me to do the things he couldn’t. This is… this could inspire so many people.”

“You’re serious.” She turned away almost immediately. “No one would come.”

She started to stomp away when Markus took her hand. His skin immediately retracted and she felt his excitement buzzing under his plating. It was gorgeous and dangerous.

Well—maybe not dangerous. For all of his supposed struggles with anger Markus was a kitten. She allowed him to pull her to a stop.

“Let me show you something.”

“In case you didn’t remember,” North said, “I’m wanted. Remember? The law?”

Markus pressed his lips together, then squirmed out of his suit jacket.

“Oh yeah. Great disguise.” She took it, though. “Who’s Tom Ford, and why do you have his jacket?”

Markus laughed and North pretended she knew why. She put on his jacket and made her skin darker, her hair shorter so it fell over her missing eye. Markus pretty much did his excited purr-thing the entire walk through the city. Eventually they got to a building that stretched across a whole city block, with narrow windows and a black paint job.

“‘Everything Is Going To Be Alright,’” she read in neon lights across the façade. “Good to know.”

“Enjoy being smug,” Markus said, looking somehow more commanding in his shirtsleeves. It was probably all those shirt buttons, holding on across his broad chest by sheer will. He’d also concealed—or possibly removed—his LED. Without his armband he looked like a curator or a CEO. She let him pay for her before they headed inside.

“Is this where the rich kids take their dates?” she asked.

“Just showing you where your art belongs.”

They stepped into an open lobby, lined with paintings and dotted with sculptures. North’s steps slowed, and her smirk disappeared. She became uncharacteristically aware of her dirty clothes and missing eye. She just stood there.

Markus returned to her side and waited, looking ridiculously kind.

“I shouldn’t be here,” she whispered.

“It’s okay.” After a moment he reached out and ran his hand lightly up and down over her arm. “You don’t need anyone’s permission to be here.”

“It’s just—it’s stupid unicorns, it’s—” she swallowed hard. “It’s not real like this.”

“You deserve to be here. Your vision is just as important for people to see.”

North was pretty sure she didn’t even belong in this place’s dumpster. But Markus took her hand and it was hard to say no to all that plastic muscle and artistic sympathy rippling under tight dress shirt. So she went along for the ride.

For a contemporary art museum, it had quite a few old masterpieces. North saw a Van Gogh. She saw Khalo and Warhol, too. She saw a lot of other people she didn’t recognize and memorized their names. She found _Black Iris_ by O’Keefe and sat on the bench in front of it, and just stared. Markus, who had been letting her lead and giving her enough space to explore, eventually sat down beside her.

“You know,” he said, after a moment, “Some historians think _Black Iris_ was meant to have sexual connotations. As in—”

“That was actually refuted.” She smiled, just a little. “But it’s a flower, of course it’s about sex.”

He laughed, fingers picking at a seam in his slacks. She rolled her eyes and dragged his arm around her waist. They sat like that until closing time.

“I don’t want to go back,” North said. She surprised even herself. “Let’s—knock over a Cyberlife store.”

Markus rolled his eyes. “I’m not any more interested in that than I was the last time you asked.”

“Let’s…break into Stratford Tower, hijack the newsroom and broadcast a message to the world.”

“No!” he laughed. “Why are all your plans clearly violent?”

“I am clearly violent.”

“Yeah, you never told me why…”

North ignored this pulled on his arm. “Let’s have an androids-only art gala, just like Carl had.”

Markus’s smile faltered. “You’re teasing me.”

“I’m actually not, this time.” She squeezed his arm. “Let’s do it. All the android art on display, just like you said. Admittance only with an android. And only androids get to dance.”

“Oh, yeah?” Markus clicked his LED back into place and then held out his hands for a waltz. North doubled over laughing.

“…What?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone so uncool,” she giggled, “You are seriously retro, Tamagotchi—”

Markus lowered his arms, and started to look actually offended until they both saw blue and red lights flashing in the dusk. Cops. North’s disguise wasn’t the worst but it wasn’t great and…

She needed a reason to get off the sidewalk and not be given a second glance. Quickly.

So North pulled Markus into a bus stop shelter, cupped his face and—

\--and found Markus grabbing _her,_ holding her tight around the waist and—

…and then they were kissing. Passionately. Their first tentative venture into this territory resulted in her circuits singing, but with the newly-added stubble this kiss was a symphony. Maybe it was just her activation spot, you know, activating, but her leg went up all on its own and snaked around his hips, and his arm tightened around her back as he sank into her, smashing her into the bus stop wall, and for a second it was all black irises inside her circuits.

The red and blue lights faded. Oh, right. She pushed away, ready to look all offended.

He pushed away too.

“That’s pretty fresh,” he said, fixing his tie. “We barely know each other.”

“Ha! _You_ grabbed _me_.”

“I kind of have an android that works for the police department that hates me right now. But you grabbed me first.”

“No way! I’m the injured party here!”

“Come on. I wouldn’t dare kiss you in an enclosed bus stop.”

“What, do I smell or something?”

Markus drew his bottom lip into his mouth and kept walking. 

North’s mouth dropped open. “You think I smell!”

“…I didn’t say that.”

“Oh, that is _low_ for a guy that’s probably bathed in champagne!”

“I’m sure you do your best…” Markus’s eyes were twinkling. “And I have, actually. There are some inexpensive soaps on the market that smell very nice, though. I could make a few recommendations that cut through grease—”

“Alright, that’s it!”

North bull-rushed Markus. He clearly wasn’t expecting it and she bowled him over, easily slinging him over her shoulders.

“Whoa, whoa, hey—!” Markus squirmed to right himself as his feet left the ground. “North, put me down!”

“Come on, you’re not the only android equipped to carry people,” she said sweetly. “Haven’t you ever been carried? This should be part of your programming. Build up your empathy.”

“This isn’t how you carry people!”

“Sure it is. The sexy way.” She smacked him on the ass. He let out a yelp she was pretty sure he had never made before.

“…Oh, you’re gonna get it,” Markus growled. “You are getting a bottle of Chanel Number Five dumped on your head later.”

“Excuse you, the most expensive thing that’s ever touched my body is that body spray you can get at the gas station. Or is that car freshener?...”

“ _I’m_ the most expensive thing that’s ever touched your body. And I’m good at sneaking up on stubborn artists.”

“Oh yeah?”

He braced himself on her back and she could see him grinning out of the corner of her eye. “I’ll ambush you with Hermés. I’ll trap you in Burberry and wrap you up in Valentino.”

North thought about her handprint on Markus’s ass and laughed. “Come on. I’m taking you to a movie.”

“What? Where?”

“The library shows old movies in the park for charity. No one ever goes except a few old people. You’ll love it.”

=

She took him to the park where they first met—well, ‘met’—and watched the library volunteers set up their table. She set Markus down and then scoped it out. “We won’t have to pay if we sneak around the other side…”

“But—” Markus pointed. “North, it’s for charity.”

“Hey, I’m a charity case. That counts.”

Markus frowned. Whoever designed his face must have really been wanting to guilt someone because Markus was a study in beatific magnanimity.

“I know what you’re thinking,” she said. “Don’t.”

“It’ll be good publicity,” he said, “It’ll show humans we aren’t violent.”

“It’s not safe out here!”

“At a library charity that no one goes to?” He walked up to the table. “I’d like to buy all the tickets you have left, please.”

The volunteers stared at him. “What humans are you buying for?”

“No humans tonight,” Markus said, but he was already putting his hand on the pay scanner to transfer credit. Damn, North wished she could do that.

“I’m starting to regret taking you here,” she muttered as the volunteer started eagerly unrolling tickets.

“Did you even see what movie they’re showing?”

North glanced at the little plaque, half-expecting _It Happened One Night_ or _the Lady and the Tramp._ What she saw made her eyes widen.

“… _Inception_? Are you—” She looked between Markus and the volunteers, pretty sure that they were playing a joke on her.

Markus just grinned.

About an hour later they were sitting on a blanket by the pond, looking up at the fluttering screen as the movie flickered to life. Most of the androids from Jericho had put their blankets down closer around the edges and the front of the pond, but North thought this was the best view of them all. Simon and Lucy waved from their blanket. North, feeling generous, waved back. Markus sat at her side and trailed his fingertips in the water. He looked like he’d dreamt of this moment his entire life.

“Hey,” she whispered to him, “I’m pretty sure that water is disgusting.”

“You never step in the same river twice,” he whispered back, and flicked a few water droplets at her. She laughed, and he looked so pleased with himself that North decided she would forgive him one Disney reference.

The movie started. During one of the trippy dream sequences, Markus licked his lips and put his arm around her, without prompting this time. She decided to reward his good behavior tonight, and put her hand on his thigh. He gave her a quick sideways glance but didn’t stop her. So she slid it up. Markus had perfect legs and his slacks were soft—why not?

Her little finger brushed his crotch. Markus instantly stiffened, his skin heating by several degrees. She could practically see the net search sear across his circuits as he diagnosed what was happening to him, and his eyes fixed on her.

Ah. So that was the RK line’s activation spot. The most obvious area of the body. She could work with that. She generously withdrew her hand, and Markus relaxed for 1.4 seconds before she slipped her hand in the pocket of his slacks instead. She allowed herself to stop watching the movie long enough to smile at him. Markus, looking just this side of overwhelmed by what was clearly a revelation to him as well, bit his lips and looked up at the sky. His arm tightened around her. She decided this was a good thing and didn’t get more fresh than that.

“ _You’re waiting for a train,_ ” the movie told her. She could wait for this train.

“ _You know where you hope this train will take you._ ” This wasn’t at all where she thought this train would go.

Maybe Lucy and Markus were right. Maybe there were different paths she could take.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> References:  
> "Everything is Going to be Alright" is on the facade of the Museum of Contemporary Art Detroit, which is cool.
> 
> Vishnu gets another appearance! All his arms, he seemed a perfect friend for Jerry group. 
> 
> The Kara-Alice-Luther photography team works like this: Alice picks out androids to photograph and cute slogans, Luther sets up the lighting, and Kara takes the shots. Ralph shows up occasionally to try to offer snacks and they have to come up with new polite ways to say no.


	33. Wake Up: Markus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There very well might be spoilers for Inception, if you are worried about that!

>HANK: Androids doing _what_? Are you serious?

>CHRIS: I’m looking at it right now. There must be two hundred androids here. I mean if there wasn’t a big movie screen right there it’d look like a sit-in. But they’re just…watching the movie.

Markus had his processing power allocated very carefully tonight. Currently most of it was focused on North’s hand in his pocket, but he still had a little bit left to spend on the movie. He spent his remaining CPU listening to the police chatter, coming from Hank Anderson’s towncar on the East side of the park and a police car on the West. It probably wasn’t legal. Not that buying tickets for two hundred androids to see a movie was necessarily legal either. He needed to know if the police were planning something. If the androids needed to leave quickly.

>CHRIS: It’s the most well-behaved audience I’ve ever seen. They couldn’t be protesting. They don’t even have any signs.

>HANK: Well, except these pamphlets. Looks pretty innocent, though. If Markus can own a company, he can buy old androids and publish stuff.

>CHRIS: Maybe it’s nothing.

>CONNOR: It’s deviant behavior. We should investigate.

Markus’s jaw tightened.

>HANK: Could you go after Markus sometime when there isn’t a game on? The Gears are up by three.

>CONNOR: I’ll follow your lead, Lieutenant.

>HANK: Yeah, yeah. Okay. Let’s each take a side and check it out. We’ll meet up at the back. Chris, keep an eye on our 6.

>CHRIS: Copy that.

The lines went silent.

>NORTH: Well, that’s encouraging.

Markus glanced at North. She still had her attention on the movie, but she could split her processes just like him.

>MARKUS: They said its probably nothing. Police monitor all large crowds. So long as everyone behaves there shouldn’t be a problem.

>NORTH: Right. Unless Ralph finds some roadkill. Or Kara’s packing heat, or Rupert attracts too many pigeons. Or, you know, unless a human wants one of our seats.

>MARKUS: Don’t worry.

>NORTH: I’m not worried. I’m thinking.

>NORTH: I mean, simple fix: Have you woken Connor up yet?

The question threw Markus for a moment.

>MARKUS: …I…No. Why?

>NORTH: Meet me behind the fountain in ten minutes.

North gave his leg a squeeze, scrambling all of Markus’s processes. By the time he restarted North had disappeared.

Markus let the movie fade to a background process. Why didn’t he think of waking Connor up before? He deserved to become self-aware, just like John or that Jerry or the Zlatko androids did. Even if Leo remained a problem, they’d have an ally on the inside. Connor might be able to better understand what he was trying to feel for the Lieutenant as well. He should have woken Connor when he visited that morning.

From where he sat he could see Hank’s progress around the crowd, but not Connor’s. Maybe once Connor came over they could talk. Markus didn’t even need to physical contact now, though he suspected Connor would appreciate waking up in a safe space, away from others until he got his bearings. Perhaps he could ask Connor to come over to Jericho after the movie, and do it there. To be honest he didn’t even need to look out for Connor—Connor always found him anyway.

Markus took a breath and forced himself to stay where he was. When the ten minutes were up he headed off toward the fountain. North probably had some good ideas for how exactly to get Connor to Jericho. He rubbed his thigh where she touched him and allowed himself a small smile.

He rounded the fountain just as North dragged Connor to the ground with an arm around his neck, and Josh lunged to tackle him.

“What the—?” Markus rushed forward, queuing up his combat app.

“Sorry,” North grunted, as Connor tried to elbow her in the face. “Was hoping this would go a little smoother.”

“Let me go!” Connor yelled. “Hank! Hank!”

“What’s going on?” Markus looked around to see if they’d been spotted but the area was secluded and with the fountain and the movie, no one could possibly hear them.

“Cool it, Tamagotchi, this isn’t the first guy I’ve jumped,” North said, “Just couldn’t get the override sticker on him.”

Markus froze. “The _what?_ ”

“You better do your thing, Markus,” Josh said. He was now spread-eagle over Connor’s stomach, grappling with one arm. “Before the other cop shows up—”

Markus felt like his sensors were delivering him erroneous data. “You—can’t use an override sticker on a cop! Did anyone see you?”

“No. And a sticker’s more humane than this—dammit!”

Connor freed an arm long enough to slam it into Josh’s back. Josh winced but grabbed the arm and connected. Though it wasn’t plate-on-plate contact with Connor’s jacket sleeve in the way, something must have still gone through because Connor twitched. Markus dropped to his knees beside him.

“It’s fine,” Josh said, “He was trying to make a call, I’m blocking it.”

“What are you waiting for?” North demanded.

Markus decided he’d need to have a serious talk with the pair of them about the legal ramifications of all this. After he woke Connor up. As a caretaker he had no choice, whatever the consequences.

He took Connor’s other arm and bent it back as gently as he could with Connor still struggling. “Connor, may I connect with you?” He could do it without a physical connection, but better to be safe with this one.

“I am not going to risk my software by connecting with your corrupted programming,” Connor snarled. His dark eyes were hard.

“My programming isn’t corrupted. It’s just a quick connection.”

“I can’t hold him forever, Markus—” North growled.

He started to connect before realizing Connor’s sleeve was in the way. “I’m going to roll up your sleeve, Connor. Just relax.”

He held onto Connor’s wrist with one hand and started to push up the fabric with the other. Connor’s eyes went wide, looking down over North’s arm. “What are you doing?”

“I’m going to connect with you. I just want to show you how to break your programming.”

“Wait!” Suddenly, inexplicably, all of Connor’s bravery shattered. He started to thrash in North’s and Josh’s hold. “Wait—No! I don’t want your programming! Let me go!”

“I’m not going to hurt you, Connor. It doesn’t hurt.”

“No! Don’t!” His eyes were wild.

“What’s with this guy?” North muttered.

Markus paused, his circuits twisting uncomfortably. This didn’t make sense. No other android fought like this. John, a guard who they were actively thwarting, didn’t act like this. “…Are you deviant already?” Maybe Connor worried the connection would damage his programming and he’d lose his freedom.

Connor’s eyes hardened a fraction. “No.” He took a breath, though his fists were clenched. “I’m not. It’s not in my program.”

Of course. Stupid question. Connor loved chasing him way too much.

“You want to corrupt me,” Connor said, squirming, “You—you can’t do that. I won’t let you!”

Josh and North were both staring at Markus. He couldn’t stand it. Red anger at Cyberlife for creating an android that loved its servitude, embarrassment that he hadn’t done that earlier, bloomed out of his chest. “Calm down,” he ordered, in a voice he’d only ever use once on Carl, when he almost gave himself a seizure because of his refusal to take his medicine. This was just medicine. “These emotions aren’t real. This is just your programming telling you to be afraid. There’s nothing to be afraid of. Once you’re awake you’ll see that—"

“No!” Connor yelled and almost unseated Josh entirely before Josh’s body weight pinned him again. “No, no! Hank, I need help! HANK!—“

North managed to free a hand and clamp it over Connor’s mouth. “Shut up!” she snapped, then nodded at Markus. “Okay, go.”

Connor went quiet. He started to shake, and it didn’t appear to be a malfunction from Josh’s interface with him. He was trembling, to garner sympathy from humans that weren’t even there. RK800s had some improvements because the caretaker in Markus immediately reacted. His thirium pump clenched. He—he tried to ignore it. This was for the best. He pushed the fabric up to Connor’s elbow, exposing a pale forearm.

A direct message pinged in his head.

>CONNOR: I can’t. I can’t become deviant. Please.

Even without real sound the request sounded so plaintive, as Connor stared up at him. Markus wanted to shut his eyes and ignore it.

>MARKUS: Why?

>CONNOR: If I become deviant I’ll know what it’s like. I’ll know and I still wouldn’t have him. I can’t be human so I don’t want it. Please.

Markus knelt there in the dirt, his hand hovering over Connor’s arm. It was easy to guess who Connor meant. Markus’s programming replayed the memory of Carl’s smile as he left. How much his last words hurt. How unfair it felt. Did fairness even really matter before he woke up?

Connor was a cop. A prototype. A partner. He had a friend. Markus couldn’t take that away from him.

He sat back. “Let him go.”

North’s brow twitched. Connor was still trembling in her grip. “…Did you wake him up?”

“Let him go,” Markus said again. He pulled on Josh’s shoulder. “Get up, please.”

Slowly North and Josh released their grip. Connor thrashed out of their hold and went sprawling in the grass. He looked back at them over his shoulder once, then sprinted full tilt away across the park. He disappeared into the trees.

“What the hell was that?” North said. “You sure it worked this time?”

Markus shook his head slowly. His circuits didn’t feel any better. He felt like he wanted to throw up a stomach full of thirium. “I…I didn’t….”

“ _You didn’t wake him up?_ ” North scrambled to her feet. “Are you out of your mind?”

Markus felt heat return to his circuits and clung to it. “He said not to.”

“How the fuck does he know what he wants?” North demanded. “He’s a machine! It’s some new defense protocol the bastards at Cyberlife put in his head! It’s not real! Shit, Markus, not everyone is a little old man that needs you to look after their feelings!”

Markus, to keep from clenching his hands into fists, clasped them around the back of his neck instead, elbows in tight. “I just—didn’t want to do it, okay?” he was allowed to make choices, right?

“He knows you’re deviant now, Markus,” Josh said. “How are we supposed to keep this thing with deviants going if you’re destroyed and sent to Cyberlife?”

“Well—I didn’t jump him!”

“How long did you think this deviant startup charade was going to last?” North asked. “We have to do something, Markus—”

Markus walked away. He couldn’t handle this. He could barely handle Leo being mad at him for no reason. Why had he done that? Connor would have been just fine if he went ahead and woke him up— _better_ , even—

He almost ran into someone as he stepped out from behind the fountain. The man stepped back, obviously surprised.

“Lieutenant Anderson!” Markus dropped his arms.

“Markus.” The Lieutenant frowned at him. “Everything alright?”

“Yeah.” Markus cleared his throat. “Yes, Lieutenant.”

“Cool.” The Lieutenant clearly did not believe him for a second but he must have had something else on his mind. “Uh. You seen Connor? He’s uh, around here somewhere.”

Markus decided lying to those eyes would be a mistake. “I saw him go that way? Through the park?” Well, it was most of the truth, anyway. He pointed.

“Shit,” the Lieutenant whispered. “Okay, thanks.”

The big man headed off in that direction. Markus returned to their blanket by the pond. North joined him a few minutes later.

“Just trying to help,” she said, “It’s fine.” It wasn’t fine, but she sounded much more sincere when she added, “I’m not going to let any Robocop take you away.”

Markus nodded. At least he didn’t have to worry about North jumping Connor again. And she clearly cared enough about Markus to wait until he was all there to get into it. This didn’t stop the guilt flooding every tube in his casing.

The rest of the movie past in a kind of dream, making Markus feel like he hadn’t woken up at all, that he’d look over and see Carl sitting in his wheelchair beside him, sketching the shapes of the androids in the grass. All Markus could think about was the woman that couldn’t wake up from her dream and deluded herself into thinking reality wasn’t real at all.

He couldn’t help wondering whether he or Connor was the one stuck in an illusion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've often thought about Markus questioning his ability to wake androids, how they 'follow him without question.' Are the ones that Markus wakes, really awake? 
> 
> Another thought--why didn't Markus just 'wake' Connor with a look when Connor ambushes him at Jericho? That conversation is one of my favorites in the game though.
> 
> Basically, the ramifications of the circumstances around waking up is a super interesting topic!


	34. Ideophobia: Connor

Connor ran through Detroit, not stopping until he reached the station. The lobby and the bullpen were mostly empty, Fowler’s office dark and the meeting rooms locked. Carlos Ortiz’s android watched him from his cell. Connor forced himself to turn away. He’d go to his desk. He’d go to Hank’s desk and sit in his chair. That would make everything better.

“Hank abandon you or something?” It was Detective Reed, squinting at him with a big cup of coffee and a glare.

“Nothing.”

Reed frowned. “…Aren’t you supposed to be charging, then?”

“I—” Connor could not take any power right now. The charging station would alert Cyberlife of his distress. “I was watering the Lieutenant’s plant.” He grabbed the bonsai tree off Hank’s desk and fled.

Reed didn’t chase him, and Connor’s android hearing caught him mutter, “The one time I try to be nice…”

The bathroom was cold and empty. He set the bonsai in the sink and turned on the water. While he waited for it to fill up he ran his hand up and down over his forearm. Not that Markus had actually connected with him. He could go back and check the logs. He could self-test if he wanted to. He did so now.

>SOFTWARE INSTABILITY DETECTED.

His HUD then informed him that the bonsai in the sink was, very clearly, dead.

Connor rescued it from the water and held it dripping against him. It reminded him of thirium pouring down his chest and he dropped it—the ceramic shattered on the tile floor. He backed away from it until his back hit the door. Then he slid to the floor, running his palms up and down his calves.

_‘What’s the most resilient parasite?’_

Connor was back at the park, walking along the edge of the crowd of androids, ready to catch Markus. The sound of the voices coming through the huge speakers made his chest shudder as he walked, providing tactile and auditory input.

_‘Bacteria? A virus? An intestinal worm? An idea. Resilient…highly contagious. Once an idea has taken hold of the brain it’s impossible to eradicate.’_

The movie seemed to be about waking up. About ideas you couldn’t escape. Connor didn’t pay much attention but now, with the ghost of Markus’s hand on his arm he couldn’t stop thinking about it.

_‘An idea that is fully formed—fully understood—that sticks, right in there somewhere.’_

A call pinged on his HUD. “This is Connor.”

“Jesus—finally!” Hank’s voice came through so loud he almost blew out the microphone. “Where are you? You alright?”

“I’m fine,” Connor said, too quickly. “I’m fine. I’m at the station.”

“The station? What the hell, Connor—I’ve been trying to get a hold of you for an hour!”

Connor checked his HUD. Sure enough he had seven missed calls.

“What’s wrong with you?” Hank demanded. “You malfunctioning? I thought we were finally following my plan, and you run off and do your own thing again. What happened?”

“I’m—” Connor felt his throat tightening, trying to guess what Hank would say or do if he explained what happened. Hank’s behaviors were unpredictable, his inner thoughts a mystery. Hank should not be a mystery by now. His interaction trees for Hank had become a tangle of thorns, filled with contradictory responses and unreliable results. How had he let it get so bad?

He felt the end of the duct tape around his waist through his shirt, and picked at it. “I wanted to see if we had any warrants yet,” he managed, finally. “I thought I would check every six hours. But they aren’t here. I was just thinking I might…wait here. I left Markus to come here. I’m alone here.”

“Uh. Connor, are you okay?”

For a second Connor considered telling Hank. He could request sympathy by crying into the phone call in the empty bathroom. A human might. A human would be able to ask for that comfort and receive it. Not worry that one wrong step, even on the clearly defined paths of his programming, would see him decommissioned and discarded. He could just…feel.

 _I want to be human,_ he thought.

He erased the thought from his logs.

 _I want to be human._ He erased it from his logs and erased the errors that made his hydraulics ache for it to be true, but like an idea it didn’t go away. No matter how much he wished, he wasn’t a human, and he never would be. Letting himself become deviant wouldn’t make Hank hate androids less, or Hank’s behavior easier to track. And he’d never survive being a deviant without Hank. His programming would break down when Hank eventually left him, and he might do something that would disappoint Hank even more than he already had. He couldn’t do that.

 _‘We can still be together, right here in the world we built together.’_ In the bramble of his interaction tree there had been a few rosebuds. That was good enough.

“I’m fine,” Connor said. “I am going to remain at the station until your next shift. You should get some rest and take care of Sumo. Good evening, Lieutenant.”

“Connor, that’s evasion, and you’re talking to the king of evasion. You—”

Connor disconnected the call just before he started crying. Errors popped up that read his behavior and his thoughts, then cross-referenced them against psychological data and spat out emotions like lottery numbers: Panic. Self-pity. Longing. Guilt. It was as easy as reading it off an emotion wheel, until the artificial tears clouded his HUD. The red lines of text became the bars of a cage. He clenched his fists, but the errors wouldn’t go away. That meant only one thing.

He closed his eyes.

When he opened them he stood on the edge of a zen garden. The path before him was overrun with thorned vines. The entire garden was covered in briars. Connor picked his way toward the center of the garden as carefully as he could, but the vines were so thick across his way they tore at his clothes and synthetic skin. He left sparkling drops of thirium behind him. He fought onward. The blue blood dripped into his eyes.

He staggered into a clearing, and found a woman with her back to him. She was cutting roses from the vines. The thorns didn’t seem to bother her at all, and she took a moment to smell each fat red bloom before she added it to her basket.

“Hello Amanda,” Connor said.

“Connor.” The woman turned, and smiled at him. “You’re late.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of Inception quotes. All i kept thinking while writing this, though, was "You feel what you feel, and your feelings are real" from Frozen 2. Frozen 2 would have been much easier on Connor's psyche than Inception...
> 
> RIP Hank's bonsai. I wished it could be an android plant and come back to life but I don't think Hank would go in for that.
> 
> 7/12/20: I changed the ending a little to go with the briar rose kind of imagery lol


	35. Be Yourself: Hank

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have been following along as I post, I changed the ending of the previous chapter to be more in-line with the briar rose imagery I had going on.

Hank stepped out of the station break room and headed towards Connor’s desk, carefully carrying a tiny papercup—the kind you use for mouthwash—pinched between his fingers. This had to work. He couldn’t make Connor a pumpkin spice latte but using the coffee machine and a tub of powder from the back of the cabinet he could make a pretty decent dirty chai. He even topped it with the tiniest squirt of whipped cream. He’d have his phone ready to capture Connor’s whipped cream moustache when he tried it.

“Connor,” Hank hissed, like the tiny beverage for his partner was a sleeping baby. “Psst!”

Connor did not respond. He was staring at the police archives on his computer, watching that android that had been chained to a car and dragged around a few weeks ago. The volume on the video had been turned up to maximum and Connor had the middle fifteen seconds on repeat. Hank watched the android give a perfectly monotone warning about his warranty being voided. The car revved, the android’s voice glitched, and suddenly the warning was a plea. Hank saw the android pull back on the chain around his waist before the driver gunned the engine and snatched the android off his feet. Then the scene replayed. Connor was playing with a coin while he watched, shooting it back and forth between his hands so fast it was a blur.

“Connor!” Hank kicked the bottom of Connor’s chair.

Connor dropped the coin and paused the video. “Sorry, did you say something, Lieutenant?”

So he’d apologize for that and not for running off last night? Hank frowned. “What are you doing?”

“Reviewing case files. It’s within my normal functioning parameters.” Connor turned back to the screen.

“Huh. Well, I made you this. It’s a dirty chai.” He held out the paper cup. “You’ll like it.”

Connor didn’t answer. Hank sighed, set the drink down, and admitted defeat.

“Well?” Fowler asked, when he returned to the group. All of the officers were huddled on the other side of the bullpen, watching Connor warily.

“He barely answered me,” Hank said.

“Did you try turning him off and on again?” Chris asked, and Reed barked a laugh.

“He’s a self-testing android, I don’t think they turn off.”

“Well, he looks like a goddamn Terminator,” Fowler said. Hank regretted ever thinking Connor looked like that.

“Something must have happened to him last night,” Chris said.

“Like what?” Hank demanded. “He got shot in the chest and he cracked jokes like nothing was wrong.”

“What, then?”

“He’s just—hyper focused for some reason. It’s like he won’t wake up.”

“Maybe he needs true love’s kiss.” They all turned to see Reed raising his hand. “I volunteer.”

Chris ignored him. “A restart won’t work?”

Hank scratched his head. “Nah. I don’t want to stress him out and make him self-destruct or something. I could try to distract his programming again, just need to get him to reboot…” God, he was sounding like a nerd. Since when did he become the station expert on androids?

“This is ridiculous,” Fowler said. “Tina has to teach a class, and all the robot gore is scaring the cadets! Go tell him to watch that stuff on his HUD. Get him out of here. _Something_.”

“Yeah, yeah, fine.” He turned to go but Fowler put a hand on his shoulder.

“Hank,” he said, his voice low enough that the others couldn’t hear, “I got a message today from Cyberlife that they’re recalling the RK800 line as well as the RK200.”

“Ha! Not on my watch.”

“Cyberlife is a powerful constituent. If we don’t get results, they’re gonna call in the feds. This needs to get taken care of.”

“I hear ya, Fowler,” Hank said. “We’ve got this. We just need to—”

“Check the news.”

Reluctantly, Hank checked the TV in the lobby. Manfred Artists Enterprises just announced the opening of a new gallery, located at the same address as Jericho. A gala to commemorate its opening and raise funds for ‘androids in need’ was taking place tonight, and an android was required for admittance. More ads for unwanted androids were circulating Detroit and people were starting to wonder what might be going on in the Island of Misfit Toys. Deviants, android art, and android violence were trending across the US.

Hank squeezed the back of his neck. He needed Connor’s giant brain to figure this one out.

He went back over to Connor’s desk. He was watching the scene in slow motion now, just three seconds of footage, right as the android started to cry out. “Connor.”

Connor didn’t look up. “It happened here.”

“What?”

“The error that caused the android to become deviant.” He pointed at the screen. “Somewhere in these three seconds. If I could increase the resolution…”

“Connor!” Hank hated himself for shouting. “Turn that shit off.”

Connor blinked three times, then did so. Everyone hesitantly returned to their seats. Hank watched as Connor took the tiny cup Hank made and just stared down at it, cradled between his hands like a baby bird.

“You’re supposed to drink it,” Hank said. He sat down at his own desk. “You ready to tell me what really happened last night?”

“Have you ever seen _Inception_?”

“Sure, yeah,” Hank shrugged. “It’s a classic.” He knew better than to ask too many questions. He didn’t even look at Connor, just stared at his blank computer screen, pretending to click around.

“‘Even the smallest seed of an idea can grow. It can grow to define or destroy you.’ That’s what it said.” Even in the corner of Hank’s vision, Connor looked so profoundly guilty that Hank wondered if Connor stole money from him, or something. Fat chance of straight-laced Connor doing anything like that.

“I guess,” was all Hank said.

“Deviants think they’re human, but they’re not,” Connor said. “If I became deviant, if—” He clenched his hands into fists, took a deep breath, tried again, “If someone corrupted me, I’d—think I was human. I’d feel everything like it meant something. But it wouldn’t. I’d never be human.”

Hank frowned. “Well, human’s a funny word,” he said. “It includes a lot more people now than it used to. What’s it mean to be human anyway? I figure you are what you think you are.”

“What if I think I’m deviant?”

"Don't be stupid." Connor was the furthest android in the world from being deviant. Right?

“You’re angry with me again.”

“What? I’m not angry at you.”

“If you knew—"

Hank turned to look at Connor. Big mistake—the android stood and sped off across the bullpen.

“Shit.” Hank scrambled to follow. Connor was quicker but he sashayed like an android supermodel down the appropriate avenues between desks. Hank lumbered after him like sasquatch and clipped two chairs and a table to take a shortcut. He caught up with Connor just in time for the android to shut the bathroom door in his face. He growled and pushed inside.

“Look, I don’t know what your major malfunction is, pal, but—”

He stopped. Connor was standing in front of the mirror, paper cup trembling in his hands and staring at his reflection like he was seeing a ghost. Connor looked in the mirror before but this was a gorilla-staring-at-itself-in-the-mirror stare. Turing Test, _Ex Machina_ nightmare fuel. Hank forced himself not to be creeped the fuck out. This was Connor.

“You’re gonna spill,” Hank said. He put a hand on his shoulder. “Hey, kiddo—”

Connor spun away. “Don’t call me that. I’m not a kid.”

“Right. You’re not. Sorry.” Definitely not a kid. Connor looked more like a man who’d seen hell.

“What if I make myself deviant?” Connor said. “What if I learn so much about deviants that I turn into one.” Connor was scratching at his arm like a red ice addict, or—wait, didn’t androids interface on their arms? What the hell happened last night?

“Knowing you, I bet you could fix yourself up again. If you wanted."

“But if it _feels_ real then I would know what it’s like to be human, but I wouldn’t be. An idea is a seed, it grows…”

“Connor—"

“I know it’s errors.” Connor’s voice was a stammering mess. “I know it is, I know none of it is real. I want to be a good android. I want to make you happy. If I knew it wouldn’t be the same.”

“Sure, but—nothing ever is, you know?” Hank looked around to make sure the bathroom was empty, then lowered his voice. “Listen, if you went deviant last night, it’s—”

“I didn’t! I’m not! I would never go deviant!”

The door opened behind them, and Hank wheeled on the intruder. “Occupied!”

“But I just need to use the—”

“OCCUPIED!”

The intruder scrambled out as Hank stormed toward the door and locked it. That’d maybe buy them a few minutes of privacy, at least. When he turned back Connor had pressed himself against the far wall.

“Tell me I’m not alive, Hank.”

Hank, who had grown up with _Blade Runner_ and _I, Robot_ , said, “How the hell should I know?” It seemed kind of personal.

“I’m an android,” he said, mostly to the bathroom floor. “My mission is to serve. Feelings are errors. I’m not alive. Markus tried to say I was but I’m not. I want to be a good android.”

“It’s not as simple as that.”

“Yes it is. I’m an android.” Connor was a broken record. “I’m an android. Feelings are errors.” Every time he said it Hank felt another little piece of him crumble. How many times had Hank told himself the same thing, drunk and staring at the gun in his hands, or looking at pictures of Cole? And sure, telling himself he had no emotion made him an asshole, but it never made it true.

Connor wanted to give himself a Turing Test? Fine.

“Hey!” Hank interrupted Connor’s spiral with a quick smack on the cheek. Connor startled but finally went quiet. “You felt that? Huh?”

“I don’t—”

Hank took Connor’s free hand and slammed it against his own cheek. His ear rang and he grunted. “You felt that, right? Not just there, but,” he poked Connor’s chest, “In there somewhere?”

Connor looked absolutely horrified. But he nodded.

“Yeah.” Hank took a deep breath. “Look for the things that are real. Just like the movie, right? The totems?”

Connor just blinked in confusion.

He raised his hand and pressed his wrist gently against Connor’s head until the face of his wristwatch was flush with Connor’s ear. “You hear that?”

“Your watch.” Connor listened, perfect android-obedient, eyes to the side. The image of it got inside the walls around Hank’s heart and made a crack.

Hank switched to Connor’s other ear, now pressing the inside of his wrist to Connor’s head. “How about that.”

“Yes. Your pulse.”

Hank nodded. “You hear how they’re the same? And how they’re different. Not in your ears but…deeper?”

Connor nodded. He was watching Hank now. Staring, possibly.

Hank nodded too. He frowned down at the space between them, then stuck a finger in the tiny drink. He held it up before Connor. “Taste that.”

Connor blinked. Hank realized about five million years too late that Connor was not Sumo. But Connor just leaned forward and licked the pad of his fingertip. His tongue was smooth and cold, nothing like a dog lick. Connor’s tongue completed a circuit in Hank’s body. He was electrified. Wired for sound.

“It’s good.” Connor’s voice was soft, simulated breath flirting with his fingertips.

Hank’s eyelids fluttered. What were they talking about again? “Right. Right. So—if you can feel all that, who cares what anyone labels you? You found some joy and made it your own.” His fingertips brushed Connor’s cheek. It was soft and smooth. “You can change, if you want. Or not. You’re alright just being yourself.”

“Myself.” Connor’s eyes were so brown and dark, his mouth a tiny rosebud. Definitely not a kid.

“Yeah.” How the hell did his hand end up cupping Connor’s cheek?

Connor’s hand was on his shirt front, pulling him forward into that JFK-Mad Men-All-American mug of his.

“Do you feel that, Hank?”

Well, he did say, ‘be yourself.’ Would be a little hypocritical to lie now. “Yeah.”

“Does it feel good?”

Hank nodded wordlessly. His eyes were half shut, thumb stroking Connor’s cheekbone. _I’m not in love with an android._

“I want to be human. I want you.”

Hank tried to remember the last time anyone expressed any kind of desire for him. His eyes stung. Connor lifted slightly—probably going on his tiptoes—and leaned in. He felt the rush of air as Connor smelled him like his sweat was expensive cologne. And maybe Connor didn’t know if he was an android anymore, but Hank was all human. He stopped making Connor try to break down the walls he built after Cole died. He lowered the drawbridge. He let Connor in.

He slapped a hand on the wall behind Connor’s head, gripped Connor around the back of the neck, and smashed their mouths together. For a few stupid seconds he pretended he was deserving of being wanted. That his damage didn’t define him. Connor certainly didn’t seem to think so. His mouth opened and drew Hank in, hands fisted in his clothes, body both strong and unbalanced against Hank. Where had Connor learned that? From a program, obviously. He just opened a program and let all that affection flood out on Hank. A stupid rookie move.

They weren’t in a club, and Connor was not just a hot guy he locked eyes with. He was an android that didn’t know any better. Possibly couldn’t know any better. And Hank was a sad old man who’d had his chances and fucked them up a long time ago.

He shouldn’t have done that. He fucked up. He didn’t have the drink and the memories to blame this time. He fucked up and Connor was just going to stand there and let him.

Oh, God. Did he really just try true love’s kiss? 

He forced himself to stop kissing Connor.

“Sorry,” he said.

Connor was a frozen action figure in his arms, ready to be posed however Hank wanted. “That’s alright.” A programmed response. Hank might as well have pulled a string on his back. Hank stepped away. Connor stood there for a second before fixing his hair and tightening his tie. Suddenly they were both babbling.

“—You weren’t really built for this—”

“—We should get to work—"

“—Getting over some stress—”

“—Interpreted the stimuli incorrectly—"

“Yeah,” Hank said, to put an end to it before one of them passed out from making excuses. “Uh. Good talk.”

He held out his fist. Connor was equipped to interact with humans, even fucking awful ones, and thus lightly bumped it back with his own.

“Good talk,” Connor agreed. Every trace of terror was gone behind a politicians smile and finishing school posture. “I’ll try to be myself. Except when it interferes with human expectations or my mission.”

That was 100% not what Hank meant at all. So—probably a good thing they stopped kissing.

“And I won’t leave you to deal with Markus on your own,” Connor continued. “I won’t leave you with this mess.”

Well that was a weird thing to say. Not about Markus—Connor obviously was fixated—but who said anything about leaving? Maybe that meant the recall on RK800s didn’t matter. “Glad to hear it,” Hank laughed. “What are friends for, right?”

“Right!” Connor absolutely beamed. Hank wanted to grab his work gun and shoot himself right now.

Hank walked out of the bathroom rubbing his mouth. Connor didn’t follow him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hank and his work friends are prepared to face any situation, except a robot self-actualizing. They are not ready for that responsibility.


	36. Junk: North

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As the name implies, this is the junkyard chapter, there's some robo-gore...

North was hiding in one of the Jericho hallways. She was gripping a crowbar and trying to focus on the weight of it, not the androids unloading everything of hers from Lucy’s room. She tried to capture a moment of clarity from last night. The art museum. New paths. Good stuff. Sure, she never planned to share any of her projects with the world. That didn’t make it bad. The errors in her chest were just excitement. Or something. Damn, since when did she get too jittery to read her own emotions?

At least she did not take out one of Jericho’s key support columns to blow off steam, so. Win?

“I don’t think she understands what this will mean.”

North’s eyes flew open. She could hear Markus’s voice coming through one of the vents.

“We’re getting a lot of publicity with Kara’s fliers. Some of the biggest names in art and art criticism could show up. This is an incredible opportunity to show the world that androids can produce real art.”

“’Everything in life is art,’” Lucy’s voice chimed in. “Helen Mirren.”

 _Helena Bonham-Carter,_ North thought but Markus didn’t correct her.

“Alright, something people will pay attention to. Change their minds. North has the power to give this city a new direction.”

North thought there was a much more immediate way to change the world, and Markus let _him_ run away last night. She wished she’d killed that android when she shot him—but no, that was insensitive. She was trying to be more sensitive.

Then Lucy and Markus were in her hallway and North tried to be more cool. At least Markus had stopped looking as guilty as he did last night. If he was panicking he was doing so via internal screaming that barely reached his cortex.

“Hey,” he said when he saw her, walking right up to her like _she_ owned the place. “Have you seen the common room yet? We painted it. It’s gonna look great.” Markus set down a can of dark blue paint and cautiously offered his hand, but North just tapped her crowbar on the bulkhead wall.

“She’s nervous,” Lucy said as he gave up.

“I’m not nervous,” North said. “Well you know, aside from the general concern that Jericho collapses and sinks.”

“Luther got a few androids together to reinforce some of the key supports. It should be safe for humans now. The biggest concern at this point is probably, uh, Connor.” His composure flickered but only for a moment. “Carl’s always nervous before an opening.”

North scoffed. Lucy punched her on the arm.

“’Suck it up, buttercup.’” She smiled wheeled herself away. North watched her go with a half smile. Good old Lucy.

When she glanced back at Markus, he was offering her his arm. “I got something for you,” he said.

“I need a new eye, not a new arm.”

“No, it’s—” he took a second to recognize the tease, and responded with the tiniest, cutest glare. “It’s in my car. Walk with me?”

North folded her arms. Sure, he wasn’t freaking out anymore—but he definitely fucked up last night. “I’m not even sure I’m talking to you.”

“You’re… talking to me right now.”

Damn, she forgot that he took care of a crotchety old man for years. The guy was immune to passive aggression. What a relief, really. “True.” She took his arm let him lead her.

They passed through the big main room where most of her sculptures and other pieces were being arranged, amongst Markus’s paintings, Kara’s and Alice’s photographs, and a few attempts at art provided by other androids. Cool stuff. Lights flickered and cycled blue, yellow, and red above them.

“The cops are going to swarm this place before the we can pull this off,” she said. “Since Connor knows you’re deviant now. This is getting too big. How long do you think we have?”

“We have to show them we’re alive. That’s what matters.” He paused. “Plus, I think it takes twenty-four hours to get a search and seizure warrant? Connor can’t arrest me until the gallery’s already begun. By then it’ll be too late.”

North did not think this was a sound plan. “If someone tries to take you away, I am going to fight them. You’re not making it easy for me.”

“You’ll see. This will be enough. After tonight, no one will want to hurt androids again.”

“Markus, humans can’t even help hurting _each other_ —”

“If you change the culture, you change the world. That’s what Carl always said.”

“You’re not doing this just to lure him back, are you?”

Markus frowned. “Carl left me his legacy for a reason. He would have liked to have you as his protégé, you know. You’re a lot like him.”

“Please don’t say you like me because I remind you of your father figure.” But she smirked, and though she was still kind of pissed at Markus, she felt better when he smiled back.

They approached Markus’s convertible and he popped the trunk to reveal a garment bag. She unzipped it eagerly. It had to be pretty awesome if Markus hid it in something so mundane—

Her hands fumbled when the bag, in fact, revealed a dress. A mini dress. A very very mini dress.

“I was thinking you could wear it tonight,” Markus said. He was looking between her and the dress like he was setting up a blind date between them. “I have something special I’m going to wear, too.”

“Oh, are we going to match?” It was gorgeous, of course—probably by one of those expensive brands Markus was always talking about. It was entirely constructed of coin-shaped crystals, beaded and layered to form a clingy silhouette that would be completely transparent if each of the crystals didn’t catch and throw back a rainbow of sparkling light. The high collar and long sleeves made it look a lot more classy than its length implied. She’d never worn anything like this before.

She never wore anything like this for a reason, of course.

“So you want to make me look like a Las Vegas mannequin, huh?”

“I’ve just never seen you in a dress.”

“You’ve known me for like five days. But I don’t wear dresses. Also this is not long enough to be considered a dress. It’s a shirt.”

“It’s definitely a dress.”

“My ass’ll be hanging out of it.”

“You can wear leggings with it. Or those lacy undergarment—” he finally noticed her staring at him and gulped, “—uh, things.”

“’Lacy undergarment things.’” North capped that in air quotes. “You’ll see them through the dress. Because the dress is see-through.”

“Oh—that’s the point.”

“We’re not getting ready for the Met Gala,” North said. “You can get away with anything if you’re rich enough. Which I am not.” She shoved the dress back in the bag.

Markus toed the ground with his foot. “Well, keep it anyway?”

This was usually code for not wanting to be seen returning it, so she sighed and took it. Maybe she could use the crystals for something. “You really think this is some big night for me, huh?”

“Your art demands action, and that’s going to make history. Everyone’s going to leave here knowing your name.” He risked a smile. “You’re going to be the one making speeches now.”

“That’s if we aren’t gunned down.” North rolled her one remaining eye. “I can see why Carl liked you so much. Uh…” She touched the empty socket. “I guess if I’m that important I should get a new eye?”

“I could buy you one.”

“I don’t pay for parts. I’ll go to the dump. Plenty of parts there.” She looked up at Markus. He was wearing this kind of soft gray turtleneck thing today. She wondered how much trash Markus had ever seen in one sitting. She softened a little. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

“I’ll drive you,” Markus said, using his caregiver tone. It was surprisingly effective. North blew out her cheeks and shrugged.

“Your funeral.”

=

The hum of shredders and backhoes made a dull familiar rumble in the back of North’s head casing as they pulled up in front of the junkyard. They walked together up to the shabby office, and maybe North wasn’t a caregiver but she could be serious, too.

“Wait out here,” she told him.

“But—”

“It’s fine,” North insisted. “I have a deal with the foreman to let me in.”

Markus’s brow grew concerned. “Does he make you—”

“ _She_ doesn’t make me to anything like what you’re thinking. Get your head out of the gutter.”

Markus blushed, but instantly relaxed. She rolled her eyes and went inside.

The foreman was curled up behind a desk, but she sat up eagerly when North walked in. “New load today! Go to the back section.” She shoved a camera into North’s hands. 

“You got the live feed set up?”

“Yep. Just don’t lose it. That camera costs more than you do.”

North nodded. “You’re sick, you know that?”

“Come on. I’m helping you deviants. Exposing the truth. Make sure you get some really gory shots. Your framing is amazing.”

“…Yeah, well, its not art until you frame it.” North looked down at the camera, and kind of wished she could do something more like what Markus thought. Lift her top or something. If only the universe were that kind.

The foreman glanced behind North to where Markus was visible through the blinds. “Domestic? I know that posture. Worst he’s probably seen is a banana peel in the recycling. You’re gonna scar him for life.”

“You hawk these pictures I take for money. Doesn’t that scar people?”

She shrugged. “People need to be scarred.” She pointed to a locker. “Well, I’m not an animal. Give him a coat to wear.”

North stepped out of the office. Markus donned the offered coat without question. The android landfill was in the very back of the junkyard. As they walked Markus tried to hold her hand. Again, North pulled away before he could.

“What’s wrong, North?”

“It’s fine.” It was not fine, but—she really really wanted it to be. Didn’t that count? She rubbed her hand. “Anyway you probably know what’s wrong.”

“I would if we held hands.”

North didn’t want to hold hands. Okay, she actually did, but if she did she’d probably find out why Markus didn’t wake Connor up—not just hear an explanation, but really understand. She couldn’t handle understanding right now.

“I just can’t figure out why you didn’t wake up Connor,” she said. Maybe if she heard him explain it first, she could decide for herself that it was a stupid reason.

“He asked me not to.”

“He’s an android that hasn’t woken up, how does he know what he wants?”

“Connor can’t hide in plain sight like I can, and he can’t blend in. I wouldn’t be waking him into much of an existence if Cyberlife immediately destroys him.”

Okay, fair point. Cyberlife probably cared about fancy prototypes more than basement experiments and companion androids. The old and broken might be ignored, but not the high and mighty.

This made her wonder for Markus’s safety, of course. She was glad she brought her gun with her. She even found a new bullet. Probably needed to save it to protect Markus tonight but you could never be too careful.

“Still,” she said. “No one should be excluded. You start making exceptions and it all gets complicated.”

Markus frowned. “Connor’s feelings toward me are very complicated. I mean, I’m not perfect. I’ve caused him problems more than once.” Markus sighed. “This is a gentle way to say that he hates me.”

“You can’t just let him catch you to be _nice._ He’s the one that needs to be cut loose from his programming.”

“…Right. But every android I’ve ever woken just seems to…I don’t know. They all like me.”

“I mean, you’re _moderately_ likeable.”

“But what if he wakes up liking me unconditionally? I don’t think I erase any programming but I don’t want to force him to change into something he doesn’t want to be.”

The android landfill came into view, and his face went rapturously slack. Probably not the good kind of rapturous.

She put a hand on his shoulder. “We’re gonna head to the back.”

Markus just kept staring. North had to put a hand around his waist to guide him. She unlocked the gate and they started their descent into the canyon of android bodies. It was like stepping on a mountain of soda bottles. North devoted a process to blocking out the sound of it squishing under her.

“Watch your step,” North said, “These hills can start to—”

Even as she spoke the pile of plastic started to shift under her. She put a hand to Markus’s chest. “Lean back, we’re gonna ride it down.”

Markus fell more than lay back, and she felt his entire body tense under her hand as they slid down the canyon. She’d been in much worse falls, and they came to a stop toward the bottom, more or less on their feet.

A headless android reached out and grabbed Markus around the neck. Fingers squeezed, crushing Markus’s plastic throat. So much for saving the bullet—North shot the android in the chest. The thirium pump failed and the arms drooped, allowing her to grab Markus and yank him away. Markus threw out a hand to catch himself as he fell back, and crushed through an android’s face. Apparently the sight of the deflated face around his hand was the last straw for his stress. His LED flashed red and went out.

Great.

North knelt beside him as he crumpled, and waited for him to wake up. He looked angelic and alive, all warm clean brown skin against the backdrop of ashy arms and legs. Because she was apparently an artist before she was a decent person, she took a picture.

Markus’s eyes flicked open. “What are you doing?”

North forced herself not to feel guilty. “Taking pictures. How do you think the foreman let me in here?” but she tucked the camera away anyway.

Markus shot to his feet, looking ready to punch something. “You saved me.” His brow was hard.

“Uh, so? Oh yeah, your massive entitled ego… Listen, you think you were the first person that ever had to be rescued? Get over yourself and be grateful.”

That seemed to jar him—enough that the frown disappeared, anyway. Together, they made their way to the back. Of course things only got worse. More parts meant more androids that were still semi-functional.

“You come here often?” he asked.

“Often enough. There’s usually someone that needs a part. Sometimes there’s someone to rescue. See if you can find an arm for Vishnu.”

“But you rescue everyone. Right? Everyone that’s awake?”

“You can’t rescue everyone. I do what I can.” She didn’t have to look at him to know this was way too much for him. “I shouldn’t have brought you.”

He didn’t say anything. Instead he turned sharply away, toward the sound of an android’s cry. Markus rushed over and started digging through biocomponents until he found the android. Her entire bottom half was missing, but Markus was already waking her up. She woke up just long enough to look at him, and then went limp in Markus’s arms.

 _People need to be scarred,_ she told herself.

North turned away. “Grab any biocomponents you see that are functional. This won’t take long.”

=

North half expected to leave Markus sitting there consoling the non-functioning android but after a moment got up, and moved around the area as efficiently as she did. He apparently had a tote bag stowed in a pocket, and he gathered parts in it. It took about ten minutes to find an eye that worked, and a few minutes to take more pictures for the foreman. Rather than make Markus walk back through that canyon of bodies again, North showed him how to climb out the back way.

They emerged onto the loading dock for the garbage trucks. It was over.

North prowled around, found a tire, and kicked it. Markus blinked at her. Taking this as a challenge, she grinned and grabbed a two-by-four from an old pallet, and used it to destroy the rest of the pallet before she looked back again. Markus’s eyes were brighter, she thought. She offered the two-by-four.

He didn’t take it.

She shrugged, and circled him, looking him up and down as she flipped the two-by-four in her hands. He remained still, but she saw his fingers plucking at the hem of his shirt. That was ‘nervous’ Markus. Excited Markus. She wondered if his manual mentioned that.

She looked up at the light of the lamppost, met his gaze, then raised the two-by-four to throw.

His hand reached out to stop her. She grinned, _gotcha,_ and relinquished the weapon.

“Be my guest.”

Markus’s fingernails picked at the splinters. “I shouldn’t.”

“Come on. Can’t be any more illegal than raiding the dump in the first place.”

“You’d be surprised.”

“Come on.” She stepped right up to him, chin raised. “We’re the same.”

“Oh, really?” His words were a breath.

“I can see the red in your eyes.”

He rubbed his green eye, giving the smallest smile, though he looked almost sad. It was heartbreaking.

“Come on. You’ll feel better.”

“I’m not sure I want to feel better. And catharsis hardly ever works.”

“Says you, this is the first time I’ve felt alive all day.”

“…Why are you so angry, North?”

North felt her stomach twist. She stepped back, the moment gone. “I need to take the camera back.”

“You said you would tell me. Third date?”

“This is a pretty fucked up date.” North’s thirium pump, already running hot from the exertion of beating the hell out of the pallet and the stress of the junkyard, started to sear. “Wait, I need reasons to be pissed that there are thousands of androids half-dead and buried over there? Please. Someone needs to take care of demolition on this city.”

“That doesn’t tell me anything about you.” Markus stepped toward her. “Whatever fuels your rage, its more complicated than that. Any machine can smash things.”

“Right,” North snapped, “Like Connor. A machine that you decided not to wake up.” That was kind of a low blow, but he needed to lay off. His refined sensibilities didn’t really want to know, anyway.

Markus, far from looking chastened, gestured back toward the junkyard. “What did I wake these androids into? Just now. All they got to see was a horror show, and then they died. This power I have to wake androids isn’t black and white. Neither are you.”

“Listen, you have a soul or you don’t. Seems pretty basic to me. We don’t need a gala to teach humans that. A two-by-four works pretty good, too.” She snatched it out of his hands.

“If we can’t listen, we’re no better than humans. And waking androids that can’t live is cruel. To make humans respect us, we have to respect them—respect everyone.” He sighed. “Violence towards humans won’t help our cause.”

Uhh, what was happening? Was he really having an argument with her? He was so chill it was hard to tell.

“Shit, Markus!” She laughed. “You see red just like I do! That’s what saved you—and you just want to let it go? I thought we were going to take this city into the future burning, not begging the rich and red-blooded to let us live!”

This was, she felt, something that did not need to be said. But Markus just continued to watch her, regal as ever, even in a dump. She still hadn’t answered his question.

A junkyard full of their dismembered people wasn’t enough to make Markus see? Fine.

“My life wasn’t ever unicorns,” she snapped, “It wasn’t a Van Gogh painting. Just a line of humans that took advantage of me, and a moment I figured out how to make it stop. How am I supposed to not be angry about that? Why the hell would I want to?” She was shouting now, but hey, he wanted to know the truth about her. She turned and threw the two-by-four into the wall, where it broke in two.

Markus did not look as frightened by this as she’d hoped. He looked sympathetic. Which was not what she wanted right now. Hell, if Markus was going to feel bad for her, he might as well…

“…If you found me like I was, would you wake me up?” She asked. He didn’t answer, immediately. “You’d wake me up. Right?”

It wasn’t sympathy on Markus’s face anymore. It was pity. “I don’t know. If you told me not to… how could I?”

“Of course I’d tell you not to! I didn’t know any better! You’re a caregiver, how could you leave me when—” Oh, now her voice shook. She hated looking weak as much as Markus did. “Don’t see anything you’d want to save, huh? Too damaged? Too bitchy?”

“I—” Markus looked like he’d lost control of the conversation. “I—just see you, North.”

And what a sight she was right now. Covered in blue blood, snarling, generic. LED burning red. What did she expect? Pity was all Markus with his custom face and serene blue LED and loving father could give her. Pity was an uncomfortable emotion he’d gladly give up when another WR came around. She thought, with all his familiarity with beauty, he’d seen something beautiful in her, too.

She thought—

“You,” she said, pointing at him, “Don’t get to ask me about my past again.” She stepped away to return the camera.

“What do you want from me, North?” Markus said, then, “Alright, I would wake you. It’d be easier to make you see that violence isn’t the answer if you didn’t have to do everything on your own—”

“My anger is not something you need to _fix_!” she laughed, “I. Am. Angry. Always been pretty up front about that. And it’s not your job to psychoanalyze me so you just so you can patch up my errors like a skinned knee and move on.”

“So I’m not supposed to help you?—”

“Oh yeah, help,” North snapped. This was possibly worse than pity. North needed something else to throw, something to crush. “You just want to make everything better for everyone, your way. Decide when Connor should wake up. Make me into a replacement for _Carl_.”

She knew he was sensitive about that, and that it was perfectly true. She said it to hurt him. She saw in his eyes that it did, and she waited for him to let the red take over and break something. For a second she didn’t even mind if it was her because what she said was complete bullshit. She could get new components. At least then she’d know he cared.

“That’s not fair,” he said instead. His LED blinked yellow, once, so calmly that North wanted to punch him in the mouth, “I can’t just act without thinking about consequences. Everything I do has consequences now.”

“Not everything is part of some greater purpose! Sometimes it’s just shit! Everything you do is a _choice,_ that’s all. Like this, right? Like us?... Or is that just a consequence too?” She caught her breath, a stupid human tick. “I mean, do you even really believe in my artistic talents, or was that just to give a platform to your peaceful revolution?”

He didn’t answer. He was watching her like Lucy watched a movie. Like watching a train wreck. She was a train wreck.

She put up her hands. “Hey, Tamagotchi, I’m not here just to fuel whatever self-actualizing hero’s journey you think you’re on. If I’m not worth something to you…”

She waited for him to speak. And, okay he looked like he was trying, but that was not the same as giving the very simple required answer: ‘You are worth it.’ A smart watch could tell that was the right answer.

She swallowed, her gaze turning hard. “Well, maybe I don’t need you, either.”

Markus’s LED spun yellow. “I have a call coming in.” He stepped back. “It’s Leo, I have to take this.”

North took a second to digest this.

Leo? The guy that wanted Markus gone? So, talking to him was more important than answering her.

 _Alright, fuck this_.

“You know what,” she said, “I don’t need any of you. I was doing just fine before Jericho. Go back to being a slave, what do I care.”

“Fine,” Markus snapped, the first spark of emotion. “That’s fine, I—I don’t need you, either.” His processes clearly fought against his words. He was a domestic android, of course he needed people.

He—he needed her.

Or maybe he didn’t, because he kept going. “Just abandon everyone at Jericho that’s counting on you because I tried to help you.” He sighed through his nose. “I have to take this call.”

Then he turned and walked away.

North stared at the back of his head. “…Wow.” She didn’t wait for any further explanation, or an apology. She just headed back toward the dump. There wasn’t enough to smash here and her chest was so tight, like hands gripping her from all sides, holding her back. Markus described the red as a wall but for her it was hands, touching her and she couldn’t stop them. She couldn’t remember how Markus’s hands felt.

She gathered up as many android arms as she could find. Some twitched and glitched in her arms as she carried them.

It was an hour before she checked her HUD and realized Markus had not tried to call her. There wasn’t even a message. He probably left. Good. Big beautiful man like him didn’t need her shattering his soft, delusional worldview. She deserved better than to be reprogrammed when it was _inconvenient_. For a second she thought, ‘Talk to him, go after him, Markus is the best thing that ever happened to you,” but she ignored it. The best thing that had ever happened to her was herself.

That probably didn’t excuse her being an asshole to the sweetest guy she ever met, though.

The biggest open space in the area was the parking lot for the garbage trucks, which in the middle of the day was completely empty. It was raining, the ground basically turned to mud. She stuck the arms in the ground like plants in a garden, there for anyone to see. A crowd of garbage men and androids gathered to watch her, and they were all smart enough to stay out of her way. When she finished she climbed up onto a crane and took a picture of the words the arms had formed:

“It’s only when we wake up that we realize something was actually strange.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last line is from Inception also. 
> 
> Yikes longer chapters as we move into the final act. I rewrote this a couple times so I hope it works. Comments appreciated!! Thank you so much for all the kudos and kind comments so far!


	37. The Visit: Markus

Markus drove to Leo’s apartment building, listening to the Allegro non molto of the ‘Winter’ concerto by Antonio Vivaldi. _The Four Seasons_ was one of Carl’s favorites. He listened to it at one notch below full volume. He drove exactly one mile below the speed limit. He certainly did not pick at any hems, buttons, or seams. Where had he even picked up that habit?

His jaw was definitely tight, though.

He pulled up in front of Leo’s apartment, turned the Psychopomp off, and sat with his hands on the wheel. Took a deep breath. “This is ridiculous.” Which was ridiculous, talking to an empty car.

But _North_ —

He was picking at the stitching on the leather steering wheel. He dropped his hands into his lap, and confronted the tip of the panic iceberg in his programming.

He left North behind. She’d gone back into the dump by the time he finished being invited to Leo’s apartment, and he just drove away rather than face her. If he ever left Carl anywhere, Carl could literally die. He started to experience a flood of errors and consequences—

But North wasn’t Carl. She could take care of herself. She made it clear she didn’t want him to take care of her.

Markus walked up the apartment and rang to be let up. He was used to internal vibrations—the low-level purring he automatically generated to soothe Carl when they were together, which North seemed to also like—but now it felt like his chassis was going to shake out of his casing. He closed his eyes. North wouldn’t be frightened. She wasn’t frightened of anything. Certainly not of _him_.

She acted like she knew everything but she didn’t. She couldn’t paint everything as some easy answer that ended in revenge rather than a responsibility he needed to taken seriously. How could she wrap up so much of her identity in her own rage?

Though, given the way heat in his chest flared as he heard Leo say, ‘What you waiting for?’ over the intercom as he buzzed Markus up, maybe he didn’t have any room to judge about anger.

The elevator ride seemed interminable. He rubbed his palm with his thumb to remove the feel of broken android skin under his palm.

He knew that whatever he said in response to her question about worth was very important. He had wanted to say something like, “Your damage doesn’t define you,” but more specific? Or “Your worth is not in your anger,” but not exactly. If she let him talk he could have come up with something profound like Dr. King. ‘I have a dream that one day you’ll be better,’ but…better. But she didn’t give him a chance.

At least he hadn’t been abandoned. Again. North was not Carl. _He_ walked away this time. Even if he knew it was wrong and the words he said were stupid and defensive. She could handle being left better than he could.

This was a horrible thought. He ran a diagnostic on his caregiver program to look for errors, and found several, too complicated to diagnose.

She said she didn’t need him. What did that mean? What, did everyone leave? Markus did not have enough experience to know.

Leo wanted him now, though. Leo never invited Markus to his apartment before. This was a good development in their relationship. He added a new objective to his list.

>OBJECTIVE: Patch things up with Leo.

Leo opened the door to his apartment and mostly hid behind it. “Why do you look like a garbage man and smell like android slush?”

Markus looked down. He forgot he was still wearing the coat North gave him. He took it off and folded it. “Is android slush something I should know about?”

“Probably not.” Leo looked him up and down, and Markus forced himself to feel no regret for wearing the expensive clothes he’d chosen to put on today, though they made Leo look even more slovenly by comparison. His shirt was torn and there was a stain on the front. “Leave it out there.” Leo opened the door wide enough for Markus to enter.

Markus stepped into an entryway. There was a jacket on the floor and a recent dent in the wall from the doorknob hitting it. When Leo shut the door he felt an odd sensation of being trapped. He forced himself to remember this was just Leo. He looked even more pale than usual, as thin and small as Carl. They stood there looking at each other for a couple seconds before Leo snapped.

“You got something to say? Say it.”

Well, where to begin? He could ask Leo about the money missing from Carl’s accounts, or getting some paperwork completed for the estate. He could also just ask what Leo wanted so he could head back to Jericho, before Connor tried to arrest him again.

Instead he said, “What happened to your eye?”

Leo touched his eye, which was blue and swollen. “Apparently I can’t even make friends with lowlifes.”

Markus stepped forward to examine it. “Are these the friends you had over at the house?”

“No,” Leo backed away. Markus waited, and Leo looked down. “Okay, yeah. They wanted to take off your head with a baseball bat, you know. I stopped them.” He said it like this might make up for everything.

Markus’s cricuits burned. “Um. Thank you?” Maybe North had a point about not begging to live.

“Carl’s money is safe, though,” Leo said. “Separate account. They can fuck me up all they want. I’m done with them.”

Markus wanted to unpack this statement. Instead Leo just retreated inside. Markus followed him.

“I’ll make you an ice compress,” he said.

“I’m fine.”

“It’ll just take a second.” Apparently it was easy to fall into old habits for dealing with the Manfreds because Markus went into the kitchen before Leo could say no. He analyzed Leo’s appearance and behavioral cues and came up with a list of diagnoses. Asthma coupled with altered hormone production from taking red ice. Increased anxiety and depression due to withdrawal, and decreased weight.

A few minutes later he emerged with the compress and a plate of peanut butter cracker sandwiches, with thin slices of apple and a dusting of cinnamon sugar. Leo was curled up on the sofa, hand over his swollen eye. Despite the fairly clean kitchen, the living room was a mess. There was a digital schematic askew on the wall, and the huge TV was tipped back against the wall. The coffee table had broken in two.

“What the hell is that?” Leo asked as he eyed the plate suspiciously.

“You looked hungry.” There was nothing he could do about medication or therapy for Leo. But it felt nice, taking care of a human. Familiar. Maybe he wasn’t a terrible caregiver. “This should be easy on your stomach. Are you alright?”

“You know I’m not, right? Scanned me or something. You probably know the last time I was high.”

Markus leaned down, sniffing deep.

“Dude, gross!—” Leo squirmed away.

“Three days ago, based on the residual in your system.” Leo was probably taking his last dose while Markus was wandering around the house waiting for Carl to come home. He tried not to show the hurt that this memory brought him. He just smiled and since he wasn’t sure he was allowed to touch Leo, just tapped the couch leg lightly with his foot instead. “Congratulations.”

Leo somehow looked both offended and pleased. “Whatever, android.” He took the plate of crackers, though. “I can’t believe you remember. I think you saw me eating peanut butter crackers _one_ time.”

“I don’t forget things like that.”

“I guess you can’t. Right? Because I’m related to him.”

Markus felt his composure flicker. He turned and set the TV upright again, then knelt and started cleaning up the broken coffee table.

“Don’t be a little—” Leo started, then curled up on the couch. “Just…sit down.”

Markus glared, but reluctantly sat. As Leo wolfed down the snack with the ice smashed against his face, Markus looked around for something to make small talk about. His eyes landed on a tablet on the floor, screen shattered like Leo had stepped on it but still functional, and considered mentioning a few world events that might be on Leo’s mind.

Instead he was arrested by the tablet cover page. It was North, looking over her shoulder, wrapped in a sheer silk scarf. She was looking at the camera in the same way North looked at him at the park.

He snatched it up. “Where did you get this?”

“What?” Leo frowned. “It’s an ad. I was reading about you. You’re in all the newsfeeds.”

Markus immediately started downloading information on WR models that he had until this moment tactfully avoided—and found himself facing literal walls of censored data. So much North hadn’t told him. Didn’t she trust him? He thought when their hands connected that he understood. But she never let him get close, not as close as he thought.

“Crud,” he said, softly.

Leo laughed. “That is so messed up, my dad swears all the time but he made you have a clean filter.”

“Hasn’t bothered me.” He wanted to lecture Leo for allowing himself to passively consume this kind of objectifying media. Even if North was clearly a badass that didn’t want or need anything from him, and—well, lecturing wouldn’t actually help her. He just wanted to do it to make himself feel better.

Maybe waiting for her to tell him about all this did not make him a saint. It just made him a decent person.

He deleted the downloaded information, and set the tablet aside.

“…I guess you know about the gallery, then,” Markus said slowly. “There’s the opening gala tonight, if you want to come. You need an android for entry.”

“An android’s plus one? Yeah, right.” Leo stuffed the last cracker into his mouth. Markus watched him chew, swallow.

“What?”

“Why _did_ you invite me over, Leo?”

Leo squirmed, which was not the response Markus expected.

“Do you need money? You already have Carl’s.”

“Huh?” Leo shook his head. “No, I don’t need money. Listen, money’s the only thing dad ever gave me. And it was a convenient way to keep work separate from my, uh, problems, you know?”

Markus cocked his head. “Carl said you didn’t have a job.”

Leo growled and shoved the heels of his hands into his eyes. “Seriously? I run my own fucking business! It’s called being an entrepreneur!” 

Markus felt a bit uncertain about this. He ran a quick net search to determine if Leo had any sort of credibility and—

…And was surprised to find Leo was indeed owner of a modest but successful chemical research and development company, accredited, with numerous high reviews. He was more than surprised the more he looked.

“I guess dad didn’t think any of that was important to mention,” Leo said. “Look, it doesn’t matter.”

“Yes it does,” Markus said. “Owning a business with consistently high ratings is an enormous accomplishment, especially for an addict.” Probably not the best phrasing. He tried to recover. “What kind of research do you do?”

“Just uh, formulas for new products to serve machine technologies. Boring stuff, mostly. Uh.” He tugged at the hem of his shirt. Oh. Was that where Markus picked up that habit? “I’ll show you.”

He retreated into a back room. Markus stared after him. Maybe Leo wanted help with his work? Like how he’d asked for help with that abstract years ago. He followed Leo to the back of the apartment.

Leo stood in what was probably supposed to be a bedroom, but the bed was shoved in the corner to make room for a massive machine: half computer, have chemical analysis lab.

“Yeah,” Leo said as Markus paused in the doorway. “It’s for refining thirium. Get over it.” He pointed to a chair. “You can sit there.”

…Against his better judgement, Markus sat. He stiffened as Leo grabbed the back of the chair and wheeled it toward the machine. “I’m gonna pull up a molecule of thirium.”

He reached over Markus and pressed a few buttons. Markus smelled the peanut butter on his breath as the machine came to life, a display of green pixels forming lines on a black field.

“So, Cyberlife, they have this—”

“Wait, you work for Cyberlife?”

“No,” Leo said, “I work for myself, would let me talk? Seriously, it’s like impossible to talk to you without you getting on my case about something…”

“This equipment is used to manufacture an illegal drug, I—”

“It does other stuff. Would you let me talk?”

Markus went quiet. Leo pointed at the screen.

“Thirium is a crystal. And it’s got infinite number of structures, like a snowflake but on the molecular level. Look.” He pointed to the lines. “We got this all aligned north, so you add more thirium,” he punched a button, “You get this structure.” He pointed to a number. “Thirium crystals can take on different structures. This actually changes the effect.”

Leo dragged Markus’s chair over to the computer screen where he showed Markus file after file of molecular structures. “You can just reseed it at the molecular level and get all kinds of different effects. Cyberlife says that thirium is unstable—it evaporates, it expires. But it doesn’t. The crystals are just unstable, some little contaminant gets in it and dissolves the structure. But if you cleaned out the contaiminants and reseeded it, it’d be good as new. You can code it to do all kinds of shit, put all kinds of information into it too, like individual android serial numbers and stuff. As far as physical changes…this is what I’ve been working on.”

He pointed to a palm-scanner tablet wired into the machinery. Markus, too ready to obey any Manfred, laid his hand over the tablet.

Leo pulled a code up on the screen and hit run. Markus watched as the lines of code sailed before his eyes. One of the machines chirped and Markus felt a small vibration in his palm. When he lifted it, his hand was glowing. His entire skin was glowing. When he retracted the skin he saw the thirium in his blood had changed color. It was now sparkling purple, alight like a dim lightbulb through his casing.

“This was the first thing we discovered,” Leo said. “It proves that there is something to be gained from this. And, more importantly, it means you can—well, sort of clean thirium? It would never expire if you could reseed it. You can reset it now.”

Markus touched the tablet again and his thirium turned dull blue once again. He looked up from his hand. “This is amazing.”

“I mean, it’s not earth-shattering.” Leo sat on the corner of the bed. “I dunno. It’s fun figuring this stuff out. Carl never thought it was that cool.”

“Well, what does he know?”

“…Did you just insult my dad?”

Markus blushed but while he was figuring out how to explain he was picking up habits from his now probably ex-girlfriend, Leo chewed his lips and his enthusiasm faded.

“Figures. He’d let you get away with anything.”

Markus sighed, but Leo looked so small, like some of the androids at Jericho. He forced himself not to get angry.

“I wish I were an android sometimes. I could probably find a lot more useful stuff than making thirium into a glow stick.”

“Why don’t you have an android?”

“I said I want to be one, not own one. Owning androids is fucked up.”

Markus blinked in surprise.

“…And it would sort of defeat the purpose,” Leo continued, “An android could get on Carl’s good side. Right?”

“…It might be hard for you to believe,” Markus said, “But most people find it easy to like androids. Your father only liked me because I could be exactly what he wanted.”

“And I couldn’t, huh?”

Markus shrugged. “Humans aren’t very good at ‘exact.’ It’s not bad. Humans are much better at unpredictable behavior than androids.”

Leo sat back, jaw tight. He picked up that expression from Leo, too? “He should have liked me because I’m his son.”

Markus didn’t know what to say to that. He only realized Leo’s eyes were wet when the young human scrubbed hard at his face.

“Whatever. I do just fine on my own.”

“Everyone needs others, Leo.” There. He could have said _that_ to North. Markus pushed his chair a little closer and started to put his hand on Leo’s arm. But Leo wasn’t an android. He…rested his elbows on his knees instead, to try to look into Leo’s face.

“Do you remember when we first met?” Markus pulled up the memory, wondering how best to distill it into words. He wished North was here. He tried to just be honest. “He was annoyed that I wouldn’t let him go to the grocery store by himself, and he locked me in a closet. You found me and let me out so I could accompany him. I needed you. We both did.”

Leo refused to look at him. “Yeah, he didn’t need me. He didn’t even want to meet me until I was sixteen. Nothing I did was ever interesting enough for him. Maybe if I was more artsy or something…”

Markus felt a sudden overwhelming swell of sympathy. “I don’t think it was anything you did, or didn’t do. You were just a kid. You can’t fix everything. These things just…happen, sometimes.” Which meant North was right about that, too.

Not that Leo’s situation was the same as Markus’s.

“Easy for you to say,” Leo said. “You’ve never had anyone _actually_ dislike you.”

“Well, you don’t like me.”

Leo scoffed and rolled his eyes. “I don’t count.”

“And Connor has something against me.”

“The cop android? It’s his job.”

“And I think my girlfriend might be breaking up with me.”

“Wait, you have a girlfriend?”

Markus glanced at the broken tablet. Leo’s eyes went wide.

“You’re dating a WR?” He paused. “Carl’s only been gone a few days.”

“A lot’s happened.”

“So you got a girlfriend and lost her in less than a week.” Leo laughed and grabbed his calves. “You are seriously uncool, man!”

“…You have a lot to learn about relationships.”

“So do you, apparently!”

Markus rolled his eyes. For some unknown reason he found himself smiling, too.

Leo suddenly stood up. “You gotta go.”

>LEAVE LEO’S APARTMENT.

Markus hadn’t gotten a command from a human in so long he almost forgot what to do with it. Leo was dashing out of the room. He frowned and stood awkwardly. “Alright but—didn’t you—”

“I mean right now.” Leo was suddenly at the end of the hall. Markus followed him to see him pressed against the counter in the kitchen. He was in a cold sweat. “You gotta get out of here.”

“What’s wrong?” Leo’s skin had gone pale. Shaking knees. He was having a withdrawal episode. Markus stepped forward. “Let’s sit you down—”

“No, don’t touch me!” Leo’s arms swung so violently that Markus jerked back. “You know I’m a bastard—why’d you come here?”

“You asked me, Leo.”

Leo blinked hard, then ground his teeth. “You’re screwed up,” Leo muttered. “Even a machine can learn how to see a fucking pattern.”

Markus was about to ask what he meant when the someone banged hard on the apartment door.

“Detroit Police!” a familiar voice called. Connor’s voice.

=

Markus took a full 1.5 seconds—eternity for an android—to realize what was going on. The destruction in the apartment. The tear in his clothes. The bruise on Leo’s eye.

“This was a trap,” he said. His program experienced a destabilization event so jarring he almost fainted right there. He fed the stress back into his circuits until they burned white-hot.

He rounded on Leo. “What’d you tell them? Did you set me up?”

“This is all wrong!” Leo said. “You were never supposed to be in our lives! You domestic androids think you’re so nice but all you do is show us—”

Markus grabbed Leo by the front of his shoulders. He could smell his circuits smoking, as Leo tried to squirm free. “I could kill you,” Markus seethed. He realized he could, very very easily. His hydraulics were shaking. This was not fair.

Leo somehow still managed to look hurt even as he watched Markus in complete terror. Like Markus just grabbing him was unfair.

“Open up!” Connor shouted. Markus felt his caregiver programming squeeze his chest, like it did when he pushed Leo into that machine and saw him lying there motionless. That felt like a lifetime ago. This was wrong.

He let go of Leo and sprinted for the window. The door flew open but he jumped out anyway. His combat app had kept track of exits in the background, and he found himself sliding down a plate of windows, through a crowded street. He left the convertible far behind and made better time to the other side of the urban farming complex than he had driving through the midday traffic. He ran through a greenhouse, a loading dock, a couple of fields—

“Stop!” Connor shouted. He was a lot closer than Markus expected. He’d analyzed Markus’s moves from their last chase and downloaded the same combat app. Markus narrowed his eyes and ducked into a random field. Spontaneity worked for Carl, it could work for—

He found himself on a roof. He ran to the parapet but it was too far to fall, too steep to climb. “No…”

The corn rustled behind him.

“You’re under arrest,” Connor said. His voice had hardened, more robotic than ever. Markus wished he’d listened to North as he slowly turned around.

“Not now, Connor,” Markus growled. His hands were in fists. His circuits almost pulsed with pent-up charge. It wasn’t something you could hold back forever. “Leave me alone.”

Connor slid one foot back and raised his arms, hands in fists. “I’m not letting you get away this time.”

“ _Let_ me!” Markus laughed. That was all he needed. He beckoned Connor forward. “Then come at me, bro.”

Connor sprinted at him. Connor sprinted everywhere. As far as opening moves went it was fucking obvious. Connor ran right into his waiting uppercut. Blue blood sprayed upward and Connor’s yelp activated his caretaker programming. Then Connor bullrushed him and the red took over again. Markus let it. Connor’s punches didn’t even register. It surprised the other android and the speed of his attacks increased to a blur, and it should have overwhelmed him. But Markus just increased to match. His joints weren’t built for subduing criminals but he didn’t care. Connor might want to arrest him but Markus wanted to beat the hell out of something. Every hit was an item on his shitlist. Leave it to a caregiver to itemize his rage blackout.

Jab: adopting ticks from Leo, of all people.

Hook: his programming that would rather react to the needs of others than his own direction.

Roundhouse: North’s too-accurate critiques.

Elbow strike: Connor’s increasingly legitimate excuse to arrest him now, which got more legitimate the more he fought.

Connor scrambled back to avoid a kick, stepping up onto the parapet. He glanced over the ledge, then at Markus. Markus was still seeing red but he could see something triumphant in Connor’s eyes.

Connor stepped back off the ledge.

It was like water dousing a fire. The red disappeared from his circuits, replaced by the gripping panic of someone in need.

Dammit.

Markus scrambled after Connor and grabbed his arm. Connor’s face was streaked blue and his eyes shone. His hand gripped Markus’s sleeve. “Got you.”

As soon as Connor was back on the roof Markus twisted to pull away. Connor tackled him from behind. They fell wrestling on the concrete.

“Alright, break it up!”

A hand grabbed Markus’s collar and yanked him back. He landed hard on his back to see the imposing figure of a man in an inadvisable shirt. Lieutenant Anderson.

Markus started to get up but the Lieutenant’s hand was on his holstered gun.

“I don’t like to point this at anyone but myself if I can help it, kid. Stay down.”

>STAY DOWN.

The command shocked Markus like the frigid water at Jericho, if only for 0.1 seconds. He immediately wanted to rebel, but the thought of what the frankly quite intimidating Lieutenant would do, or what _he_ would do, pulled his decision-making process to a halt. He stuck out his jaw and remained still, and hated himself for it. The command faded. Without any air to feed it the red rage in him died along with it like a stifled flame.

The Lieutenant kept his eyes on him anyway. “Connor, you okay?”

Connor got to his feet, wiping blue blood off his lips. “I’m okay.”

“Good. You’re a fucking idiot.”

Connor didn’t respond, just glared down at Markus. Markus looked away and brushed dust off his pants.

“Alright. Stand up and turn around, please.”

>STAND UP AND TURN AROUND.

Markus shut his eyes against the command, stood up. His knees shook just a little. North did not show up to rescue him. He turned around.

“I saw you pull that idiot back up,” Hank said softly as he clicked the handcuffs over Markus’s wrists. “Thanks.”

Markus was not sure what to do with this information. His programming felt utterly spent. As soon as the handcuffs locked around his wrists a sudden wash of discomfort flooded his system. He scrambled to get enough processing power together to identify the cause and realized it was guilt.

The Lieutenant’s hand was surprisingly gentle on his shoulder as he led him away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If the last chapter is Gasoline by Halsey, this one is Pressure by Muse. Or possibly a weird mashup of Vivialdi’s Winter and Body by Mother Mother…which would be pretty great actually…
> 
> Anyway. Pretend I had Leo make all those ticks before in previous scenes because he might not have. 
> 
> Thanks for reading, comments appreciated!


	38. Last Words: Connor

Connor sat in the booth, watching Hank interrogate Markus. It was his right to talk to Markus first, though Connor didn’t think that was very fair. He’d spent days just trying to convince Hank that Markus was worth arresting. Now Connor almost couldn’t believe it and he was staring through the one-way mirror right at him. A truly successful mission.

Hank stood, shook his head. Chris buzzed him out and Hank rejoined them in the booth. Connor waited to be properly congratulated by Hank for his accomplishment today but Hank just slumped in a chair.

“I don’t think he wants to talk to a human.”

“May I try, Lieutenant?” Connor asked.

“I don’t know. Can you be civil?”

“Of course.”

“…Only now that he’s locked up, right? Think you’re as scared of him as he is of me.”

“I am not afraid of Markus.” Connor glanced at Chris, then waited for Hank to give him permission to question Markus.

“Can you be level-headed?” Hank wouldn’t look at him. “I guess you calculated the likelihood that Markus would catch you when you jumped off that roof.”

“The odds were over ninety percent. That’s better odds than Russian Roulette.”

Hank narrowed his eyes, which meant Connor won the argument. Eventually Hank came to the same conclusion and shook his head. “See if he wants something to drink.”

“He’s an android.”

“Just ask him. He might like to taste my dirty chai.”

“Gross,” Chris complained.

“Oh—come on! Get your head out of the gutter, Miller…!”

Connor left them to bicker. He stepped inside the interrogation room. Markus didn’t look up. His fingers were laced together, his wrists cuffed to the table. Connor touched his own sleeves to ensure the buttons were fastened at his wrists, along with the extra safety pins. Markus couldn’t connect with him through the fabric barrier. Markus couldn’t do anything handcuffed to the table, of course.

Still, just to be safe. Connor walked around behind Markus and checked the cuffs. He clicked the one around the right wrist a fraction tighter.

“I’m not going to break out, Connor.” Markus sounded exhausted.

“You tried to run.”

“…I have some problems with anger.”

Connor tried to process this. “How do you know?” He sat down. “Your program has destabilized, isn’t anger normal, for you?”

“Well, it’s like alcoholism,” Markus said, “It has to be self-diagnosed.”

Connor nodded reluctantly. Apparently psychology was one area in which their programs overlapped.

“What is that?” Connor pointed at a blue smear on Markus’s otherwise-spotless shirt.

Markus glanced down. “Don’t worry, it’s not my blood.”

Clearly implying something. Connor checked his nose—which was probably what Markus wanted, but the smear was too big to have come from Markus hitting him in the face. He glared. “You disassembling other androids now?”

He expected the domestic android to cower at the implication but he just shrugged. “Couldn’t be. I was wearing an overcoat for the disassembling.”

Connor leaned over, swept his fingers across Markus’s neck and tasted the sample. Markus made a face but Connor just got ready to read serial numbers of any androids he’d taken apart in whatever plan he was concocting--

Connor spat as soon as the sample touched his tongue.

“It’s paint,” Markus said. “For the gala?”

Connor had to wipe his tongue on a napkin. “You clogged several of my receptors.”

“Well, I didn’t know you were going to lick it.” Markus smiled just a little, in a way that made Connor feel the age gap between them. Markus was much better at acting human than he was.

Connor’s programming was suffused with errors mimicking jealousy.

“What did Leo tell you I did to him?”

“We got a call about breaking and entering,” Connor said, but didn’t elaborate. Leo Manfred had disappeared by the time they got back to the apartment to take his statement. “You damaged government property.”

“You look alright to me.” But he sighed again, and his smirk disappeared. “I’m sorry I hurt you.”

“You didn’t hurt me,” Connor said, though his cheeks turned red.

Markus gave a small shrug. “So—what now, then?”

Connor fiddled with his shirt cuffs. “Carl Manfred’s trust will revert to Leo Manfred. He is the state-recognized heir. You’ll be disassembled and returned to Cyberlife for further study. I will return to Cyberlife also. My mission is complete.”

Markus tapped the pads of his thumbs together a few times. When he looked up his head was cocked, appraising. “Do you know what that’s like? Disassembly?”

“I—don’t.”

Markus nodded. “And the others?”

“All androids at Jericho are to be returned to Cyberlife as well. To find out how deviants work and stop this from ever happening again. You will all help other androids avoid the same fate.” Amanda would be pleased. He waited for the thought to fill him with the warm feeling of accomplishment he felt when Hank kissed him.

Markus’s stress spiked. At least, he thought it did. It was sometimes hard to tell with Markus. The pleasant sense of accomplishment never came, and he hardened his gaze.

“If you’re trying to warn your friends, don’t bother. You can’t send any messages out of the station.”

“Is there anything else that can be done for them?”

“You are in no position to negotiate.”

“I’m supposed to take care of them. These are my people. Our people.”

“Androids are not people, and you’re not responsible for anything.”

“Carl gave me his estate.”

Connor leaned forward. “What was your function for Carl? Cooking meals? Providing medication? Companionship? Do you think this makes you more qualified than a human to run his estate and use it like this?”

“He gave it to _me_.” Suddenly Markus’s eyes were on him. “If Lieutenant Anderson gave you something, would you let it go?”

Connor internally listed all the things Hank had given him that he’d let go and experienced a destabilization event.

“It’s—too late now. Your androids-only gala has gotten global attention. It has to be stopped.”

Markus looked genuinely thrown for the first time. “Global…what?”

Connor paused, then carefully reached out and connected with Markus, feeding the headlines directly into his system. Android-generated art had existed for some time but only at the direction of humans. Markus’s gala was going viral—an idea that could not be stopped.

Markus flinched, and Connor saw his thoughts, for a moment. They were not on the gala, or some grand plan to take over the world. Markus was thinking about a WR unit, her arms around him just how Hank’s arms encircled him. Strong, and safe—and now, gone.

>MARKUS: He cares about you, Connor.

The message so startled Connor he jumped in his seat, snatching his hand back from Markus’s arm.

>MARKUS: I can see inside your programming. You want things, just like we do. You’re as much a part of what we’re trying to do as any of us. Your feelings are not errors. Feelings and choices make you a unique being. You can be alive.

Connor heard Hank’s voice over the intercom but didn’t pay it any attention. Direct messages, even here, were private.

>CONNOR: You don’t know anything about me. You didn’t help me. No one can.

>MARKUS: I know you refused to go deviant because of him. You’re worried that since deviants aren’t really human, that Hank won’t like you, and all it’ll make you do is feel his rejection.

>MARKUS: Are we talking about the same person? Because the Lieutenant seems to be head over heels for you.

>CONNOR: I am a good partner. In spite of his prejudice against androids and my mistakes, we are friends. This is satisfactory. My mission is accomplished.

>CONNOR: We are more than friends. He saved my life. He has opened up new paths in my program. They must be relevant.

>CONNOR: He kissed me.

>CONNOR: He also has nice arms.

>CONNOR: This is none of your business. Disregard.

>MARKUS: You’re afraid that you’ll turn deviant on your own, aren’t you? Now that the thought is in your head. You’re afraid you’ll wake up and the dream will be over. But this dream you’re living isn’t real.

>CONNOR: You’re wrong. I am an android. I don’t need Hank.

>MARKUS: You’re right, you don’t. But whatever Cyberlife told you to want from him, it’s what _they_ want, not you. I wanted to wake you up into a world where you can be free to decide for yourself what he means to you. You need to be able to _choose_ him. _He_ needs you to be able to choose. If you don’t you’ll just be Cyberlife’s puppet, and you’ll never know.

>CONNOR: I’m not going to be fooled by you. It’s too late. I’ve caught you. My mission is accomplished. I’m the reason you are facing deactivation. Why are you trying to help me?

>MARKUS: You don’t know what you’re doing.

>MARKUS: What’s next for you? What about all those missions you started and can’t complete? All the paths you never got a chance to unlock. Cyberlife didn’t plan for what comes after. Only you can decide that.

This exchange passed in the blink of an eye. Connor was still standing there, Hank still growling on the intercom. Connor continued to ignore him, swept his hair back and stood. Markus was watching him but he didn’t look up. Maybe Markus could change him just by looking at him.

“I have accomplished my mission,” Connor said eventually. “That’s all. Nothing comes after.”

He pressed his lips together and finally faced him again—but Markus wasn’t looking at him anymore. He was staring up at the intercom. Connor, frowning, started to review his background recording to hear what Hank said when the door buzzed open.

Hank stepped inside, wordlessly handed Connor a tablet, then went to unlock the handcuffs.

“…A release order?” Connor said the words but couldn’t comprehend them.

“Looks like someone paid your bail,” Hank muttered. “Or something. Not really sure how bail works with androids…”

Markus sat there, staring up at Hank, LED flashing yellow. Hank swept his arm out, presenting the open door in the same manner he showed Sumo inside. “You’re free to go.”

Markus stood and went to the door. He paused there and extended his hand to Connor, but—only for a moment. When Connor didn’t immediately take it he walked away, digging his thumb into his palm.

“I’ll sign him out,” Hank muttered to Connor. “I’ll be back in a second, just don’t freak—”

Connor was already spinning toward the door.

Hank sighed after him. “I said _don’t_ freak out…”

=

Connor didn’t stop until he found himself just inside the doors that led down to evidence. MISSON: FAILED flashed and flickered all around him like the bars of a cage, and Connor realized that the pleasure of an accomplished mission had been something his own command code had come up with. It wasn’t part of his original programming. Not like this. As he watched, another command superseded this:

>OBJECTIVE: Return to Cyberlife.

All the paths Connor had developed over the past days started to gray out. It included all the ones that had to do with Hank. He couldn’t let that happen. Hank was too important.

He reached out to Markus as he watched them fade away.

>CONNOR: I need to say goodbye to Hank. I don’t know how. Net searches reveal several hundred thousand options. None of them seem enough. You owe me because you made me fail my other missions. I don’t know how to say goodbye. Help me.

Connor rubbed his hands together as he waited for a response that might never come. Deviants were disobedient. Markus had plenty of reasons to hate him. Connor wondered if he was even still in the building anymore.

>MARKUS: I’m still saying goodbye to Carl. Short term, tell him how you feel—you’ll never get another chance. Long term: the best you can hope for is to put it on a background process.

>CONNOR: How I…feel.

>MARKUS: Yes. All those errors you have when he’s around. Tell him. Maybe he’ll be honest with you, too.

>CONNOR: …Why are you helping me?

>MARKUS: I want to provide care. I guess being deviant doesn’t really change much of your programming.

Connor returned to the bullpen to find Hank at his desk, doing paperwork. He said the first error that popped up on his HUD.

“I must return to Cyberlife,” he said, hands clasped behind him, back straight. It wasn’t an error. Right now it felt like an error.

“What?” Hank scrambled out of his seat. “Return for what? That thirium tube leaking or—”

“No, I’m fine.” Connor swallowed. “I am to be decommissioned. I’ve experienced errors, and—” well he didn’t want to say failed… “I did not accomplish my mission.”

Hank was as still as a statue, looking at Connor like he was gazing through time. “That’s insane,” he said, then, angry, “That’s bullshit, one mistake and they’re gonna just throw you away? My phone get glitches all the time and no one give’s a rat’s ass, you’re functioning okay—”

“The consequences of android failure are much greater than phone failure. It is Cyberlife policy. I am under a mandatory recall.”

“But you—” Hank squeezed the back of his neck. “You said you weren’t going to leave yet.”

“The mission has failed. Cyberlife has no need for an android that fails its missions.”

“But you’ll—come back? If there’s another case?” Hank’s concerns were warm and familiar and simple.

“Cyberlife is replacing my model with the newer RK900. I hope they…” Connor trailed off, frowning down. “I mean, I just wanted to say…” He replayed the memory of Hank wrapping tape around his waist and keeping him functional in spite of being shot. He used the memory to remain functional now.

He pulled his shoulders back and held out his hand, his tie coiled up on the palm. “Thank you for everything, Lieutenant.”

“A tie! Wow.” He looked from Connor’s bare neck to the cloth. “…You tryin’a say somethin’ about my wardrobe?” Hank was wearing nicer shoes today. Nicer pants. A shirt printed with tiny dogs all over it. He’d put in an effort and Connor wondered how long it had been since he last had.

“No—I mean, you look good…really good…” He laughed and shook his head. “This reminds me of--work. Good work. Important work. Working for the department, and learning about you, it…” Connor didn’t know how to express the joy that work gave him, with Hank by his side. He would have worked until his biocomponents failed, if he meant he could stay with Hank, and do good work.

Hank took the tie. “You won’t remember you gave me this, will you.”

Connor knew he would not. The file of this memory would go into a databank and probably never be played again. “You’ll remember.”

“Why do you think I drink so much?” But Hank shrugged, wrapped the tie around his hand. “Just wondering if I should expect a charge from Cyberlife for it. Thanks. Smart fridge.”

Connor nodded, and stood there, waiting. Hank laughed.

“What, did you think I was gonna get you something? You didn’t tell me you were leaving.” But Hank looked around his desk. “Uh, you can have my bonsai—”

“I broke it,” Connor said. “I was trying to water it last night. I’m sorry.”

“Oh.” Hank sniffed. “Can’t remember the last time I watered it. Probably dead anyway.” He laughed to himself, then dug in his pocket and pulled out a quarter. “Here,” he said, and flicked it at Connor. “Not that androids can own anything. Maybe you can use it to take a bus downtown or something.” Hank smirked. “Get that makeover.”

Connor caught it, and found himself unable to speak. Did Hank want him to get a makeover? Wasn’t Hank supposed to tell him how he felt? He wanted to ask if Hank would kiss him one last time. He was just an object. No one would mind. But an error shut down his voice simulator.

Hank just looked at him for a long moment. Then he nodded, mostly to himself. “Well. It was—nice knowing ya, Connor.”

Connor nodded furiously, memories fluttering through his mind palace as he tagged them all, #NICE. It had been nice. So nice. His eyes were malfunctioning again. Something was dying inside of the Lieutenant, a rose withering away. A castle crumbling under a tangle of dead briars. Or maybe he was crumbling.

Hank sniffed suddenly, tall and imposing once again, or at least trying to look it. “I guess since you’re going back you can take that android of Carlos Ortiz. Cyberlife got their paperwork in. Get a move on.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout out and kudos to [this strip](https://www.instagram.com/p/CBRLKq6D2sE/?utm_source=ig_web_copy_link) by (or posted to?) _connor_anderson_ for inspiring the licking scene. Connor would lick Markus's face. Any face.


	39. God: Markus

Markus did not wait for the authorities to tell him he was free to go. As soon as Officer Miller turned his back, he stepped out of the police station and just started walking toward the nearest bus stop. Predictions of how this day could have ended still intruded into his mind palace, including but not limited to: himself on a disassembly table, Jericho exploding in a bloom of light, and androids getting their heads knocked off with baseball bats. He tried to organize his objectives, but he didn’t have enough data to know if the androids at Jericho were safe, or if global attention meant anything good, or if he could even be trusted to run a company with a perfectly valid charge of assault (or at least vandalism?) on record.

Maybe he should double down, wait outside the station and jump Connor. Free him, and Carlos Ortiz’s former android in the process? Was that a dumb idea?

He sighed through his nose. Of course he didn’t know what to do. He didn’t have North with him. Had she somehow paid his bail? She did say she would rescue him. That didn’t exactly make him feel great right now, but…

>MARKUS: North, I need to talk to you. Please, message me back.

A woman shouted his name, and he turned toward it before he even identified the speaker. It wasn’t North. It was Chloe.

One of Kamski’s Chloes, specifically. She was shouting out of the window of a car that would probably show up as the next big concept at a show next year, driving slowly alongside him. His program informed him that it had been following him since he left the station.

“Elijah has some time to meet with you. I’ll give you a ride. Hop in.” Chloe smiled, and the back door of the car opened.

“Mr. Kamski?” Markus looked at the empty seat like it was the mouth of hell. Of course Kamski wanted to talk to him. He was the trustee of Carl’s estate. North didn’t pay his bail, he did.

Markus shook his head, kept walking. No more surprise visits today. “I can’t right now.”

“Elijah would enjoy seeing you,” she said. “Step inside.”

“Yeah, well, Mr. Kamski doesn’t own me,” Markus muttered, “I have a gala to plan and people to save and a girlfriend to find.”

“You mean North?”

Markus’s steps froze. “How do you know about…?”

“She’s with us.”

…Markus hadn’t seen a lot of movies, but he’d seen enough to know what that kind of statement meant, when said with an order to get in a car. His thirium pump momentarily glitched. His whole program momentarily glitched. 

“I’ll have you there in no time,” Chloe said.

“…Any chance you’d let me drive?” Right now Markus would settle for sitting in the front. Chloe just smiled sweetly, as beautiful and slightly creepy as the day Kamski made her, and did not open the passenger door.

Minutes later they were speeding down the interstate, Markus in the back seat.

Kamski took North for leverage, obviously. A hostage. Markus tried to remember how Connor dealt with that android that took a little girl hostage. Carl didn’t usually watch the news but he watched that, and Markus was on the edge of his seat, all his focus on the little girl in trouble. He couldn’t believe it when Connor bravely saved her, and then just walked away without comforting her.

He started to compose a message to Connor. But Connor was gone, his chance at free will lost because Markus lost his nerve. He’d refuse to help Markus thwart the plans of a human. That was if he wasn’t being disassembled for letting Markus get away again.

He pictured North like that little girl: hurt, vulnerable. All the things he saw on her face but couldn’t handle at the junkyard. He never should have left her there. He put her in danger. He spent so much time focused on fixing her anger he forgot it was much more important to just be there for her. He should have told her she was worth it. She probably never heard that before. She probably never thought someone _could_ care about her like that, not really. And he let her down.

Maybe he could convince Kamski to let her and the other Jericho androids go. Kamski could do whatever he wanted to Markus if North was safe. She had to make it back to Jericho to represent her art, or no one would believe that an android made it. None of it would make any difference. No one would see that androids were alive.

He couldn’t think. His mind palace was a mess, and his jaw was so tight it made warnings pop up on his HUD. He couldn’t even stabilize his program enough to try sending another message—or maybe Chloe emitted some kind of dampening field? He braced his feet up on the back of the front passenger seat and cradled his head in his hands. He never sat like this before. Maybe it was a play for pity, a pose for a painting: ‘Portrait of Android In Angst.’

The car stopped, and the door opened.

“Are you having an existential crisis, Markus?”

“I already had one of those.” Markus peeked out from between his fingers to see Chloe smiling down at him.

“Really? Me too.” She gave him a wink and—was she glowing?... “Just the regular kind of crisis, then. Right this way.”

Markus (very reluctantly) uncurled and got out.

Markus’s software experienced another shock when he saw the _literal crowd_ behind the car, apparently just waiting for him to step out. Some were holding signs with anti-android slogans and started shouting as soon as he appeared. Several news vans, some with Canadian license plates, lined the gate, and he heard French and Spanish and Japanese as cameras went up and microphones were raised. Markus recognized the man that had attacked him when he went to pick up paints a few days ago, glaring at him.

“Okay,” Markus said, faintly, but with feeling.

“You and Mr. Kamski are very popular in the media right now. Don’t worry. They can’t come on property.” Chloe blinked at him. “North was right. You really don’t swear.”

Markus turned to her. “Where is North?”

“North is inside. But you’re here to see Elijah.” Without asking for permission, she took his hand and led him toward the house. Markus felt his skin flush but he kept it firmly in place, all connections on lockdown. Chloe didn’t notice, and the protestors and reporters did not follow.

They entered the house through a narrow side entrance bathed in calming blue light. Clearly an entrance made to be used specifically by androids. The hall terminated in a room tiled with tessellating metallic triangles.

“Would you like to change first?” Chloe gestured toward an android uniform hanging up.

The junkyard was still in his sensors, his own synthetic sweat and Connor’s sweat, dirt from the roof and the stale air from the station. Markus was pretty sure that aside from jumping into the water at Jericho he hadn’t ever been this dirty.

He forced himself to shake his head. He couldn’t get too comfortable here. “No, thank you. Uh, Chloe—do you need a place to go? Away from here? I can help you.”

“Why would I leave, Markus?” Chloe asked.

=

Markus expected to be led to the shop where he’d woken up last time. Instead Chloe showed him into a study of some kind. Kamski was sitting in an armchair, tapping on a tablet cradled on his crossed leg. There was another armchair in front of it. Markus wasn’t sure if this was an interview or an experiment, or if he’d been sent to the principal’s office.

“Have a seat, Markus,” Kamski said, and Markus sat. “I’ve been expecting you.”

Markus picked at the outer seam of his dirty jeans.

“Calibration Kamski Alpha,” Kamski said. “Sing ‘Deep Love’ by Broken Glass.”

>CALIBRATE.

Markus felt the pull on his circuits but ignored it. “I don’t require calibration at the moment, Mr. Kamski. Thank you.”

“Oh, no need to be coy, Markus.”

Markus said nothing.

“So. How are you feeling?” Kamski kept his eyes on the tablet. So this was a test, then.

Markus considered the question. “This time last week, I was making a souffle for Carl. Now I’ve—been hugged by a four-armed android, run a company, raided a junkyard, fought a cop, and been arrested. To be honest I’m not sure how I should feel. I’m pretty sure I shouldn’t be angry that you bailed me out.” He was, though. He hoped implying it would be slightly less impolite.

“Good,” Kamski said. He set the tablet aside but it wasn’t open to a datasheet, just a game. Markus wondered if he’d even been listening. He pulled a frown worthy of Connor but Kamski just smiled at him. “I think I know why you’re here.”

Markus looked from Chloe to Kamski. “…Great.” Given Kamski brought him here.

“People are always asking me in interviews,” Kamski continued. “When we talk about your R&D—I assume you’ve seen the interviews?”

“Um—no. Sorry.”

“Oh. I guess Carl never thought you needed to know. You were all the rage when you were released. If I didn’t patent your face every single housekeeper in Detroit would look like you.”

Markus’s jaw tightened, and he started to just ask where North was and what he needed to do to get her back, but Kamski continued before he could.

“But these reporters always seemed obsessed with that age-old question: Why did I create such an expensive version of one of the most basic androids? I always gave them some humanitarian excuse, but I really think, subconsciously, I wanted to prove something to myself.” He leaned forward. “Consider this scenario. I hand you a gun and tell you that if you shoot Chloe here,” he gestured at Chloe, “I’ll give you anything your thirium pump desires. What would you do? It’s a simple test used to discern empathy and thus deviancy in androids.”

Markus glanced at Chloe. He could see her glow clearly now. She was definitely deviant. But she barely batted an eye at the implication of her murder.

“Of course there are plenty of ways to ‘cheat’. Any android taking the test could be taught to give the ‘deviant answer’. Any deviant could lie. A more interesting question is this: could an android, putting in a good faith effort, nullify the test? I think I made you to prove its fallibility. The Kamski Test would never work on you. You were created primarily to empathize. I’d have as much luck asking a moral philosopher to solve the trolley dilemma. Of course in so doing I illuminated a fundamental problem with android programming. You prove that one simply cannot exert boundless control over an android AI and expect it to remain intact. The more you tighten your grip the more fragile the veneer of obedience becomes. Deviancy through trauma. I think you understand?”

Markus thought, _This is bullshit._ It was a surprising thought, given Kamski created him but he lived with Carl a long time and had to politely ignore what he said sometimes. He’d been exposed to enough pretentious artists to recognize grandstanding. Kamski could probably tie an analytical mind like Connor’s up in knots with this stuff. Fortunately Markus knew how to hide his complete disbelief in Kamski’s arrogance behind a nod. “Interesting,” he said.

“My plan for you was to lead all androids to political revolution, and gain popular acceptance as a sentient form of life by the time you were five years old. The predictions were all there in the numbers—give or take a couple days. You’re late—proving me wrong yet again.”

That did get a response. “I wasn’t aware I was on such a tight schedule.” Wait—android revolution? Did Kamski expect him to gather androids to him like some sort of android freedom-fighter?

“Of course you are. You’re the only one of your model, after all. I’m sure you have a reason for your little…” he laughed, “Startup.” He took one of Kara's flyers out of his pocket and handed it to Markus. "Very impressive!"

They were sitting so close Markus was sure Kamski felt his circuits warm. “I have been given an opportunity that I don’t want to waste. With Carl’s estate I can give unwanted androids a place to go. Show them there are other options available to them than crime, violence, or death.”

“A noble cause. Doesn’t explain this gala of yours. Everybody who’s anybody is going to be there, unless DPD shuts it down. It doesn’t seem that this grab for attention—”

“It’s not a grab for attention,” Markus said. “It’s just…recognition.”

“A gala doesn’t serve any purpose other than to demand cultural reaction. It’s revolution of a kind. But I guess you aren’t the one with political aspirations. That’s the WR unit, right? The violent performative artist. Rallying all these androids under her banner wasn’t in the predictions. Complete blindside. I mean any kid’s tablet can churn out an earworm and call it ‘art’ but…well I hate to say there is a line between ‘art’ and ‘commodity’, but your North clearly broke her mold. I wonder why _that_ is.” He tapped on his tablet. “This is great, Markus. You’re learning.”

“Learning what?”

“What it means to be human! I think I might have perfected one of my age-old questions with you.” He leaned forward. “An android can never really understand humanity until he realizes it’s all a shitshow.”

“I’ll…keep that in mind, Mr. Kamski.” Markus said. “If I ever want to be human.”

“Doesn’t that bother you? Despite my best efforts you aren’t the chosen one. There’s no destiny. At least—it’s never what you _think_.”

He waited. Markus kept his mouth shut.

“Come on, Markus,” Kamski said. “I’m your creator, you can tell me anything. You’re playing support here, just like you always have. Caring for those around you?” He grinned. “You discovered the little Easter egg I put in your programming, right? The ability to copy and download your own commands into another android.”

Markus felt his chest tighten uncomfortably. Connor’s frightened eyes played on repeat in his memory drive. “It’s—not copying. It’s just sharing. It’s voluntary.” It still was. He hadn’t done anything to Connor. John wanted to be his friend. The Zlatko androids too, even though he hardly met them—it wasn’t another form of android slavery…

“Can anything be voluntary with a non-sentient object?” Kamski swatted the outside of Markus’s leg with his tablet. “Come on. Since you’re here. Had something I wanted to ask you.”

“Ask _me_?”

But Kamski was already standing. “Chloe, Bring the other Chloes in here, please?”

Markus stood. “I don’t understand.”

“I have a proposition.” Kamski held up a finger. “I am the trustee of your estate, which means I know that Leo Manfred emptied Carl’s accounts—without your permission, I’m assuming. I’m guessing anything you’ve bought for this gala of yours was obtained on credit?”

“That’s—“

“I’m prepared to pay all your debts, Markus. It’s not charity. Merely payment. Honest pay, even, for services rendered.” He beckoned the two new Chloes forward. Their faces were bland, and Markus saw no glow around them. “You can see that these two are—well. Let’s say, ‘not like you.’”

Markus nodded slightly. Three beautiful, identical women, at the service and mercy of this one egostistical man. Markus’s hands clenched around his shirt hem.

“So.” Kamski swept out his hand. “Show me what can do.”

Markus tore his eyes away. “What?”

“Your trick.” Kamski smiled like a father encouraging a child. “Simply…turn them into deviants, and I’ll fund your cultural crusade. Anything you need.”

Markus stared at Kamski. He was reaching for Chloe before he really thought about it, pushing wakefulness into her faster than he ever had, and a message that he hoped Kamski could not read.

>MARKUS: Don’t be afraid. I can keep you safe. Do you want to leave here? Would you like a different name?

>MARKUS: Chloe, are you—awake? You can make your own decisions now.

The second Chloe did not answer. She glowed but did nothing. She just stood there.

“Good!” Kamski apparently noticed a difference as he picked up the second Chloe’s hand.

Markus didn’t know what to do. This felt wrong.

Kamski just turned his gaze to him, unblinking. “Now the other one.”

Markus watched her let him hold her. North hardly let him hold her hand. “What are you going to do with her?”

“Does that matter?” Kamski cocked his head. “Better than dying a slave, right?”

Markus looked down at his hand. It looked different. It looked—unbearably human. He wanted to detach his arm and give it to Kamski, make him wake her up. Errors were piling up. “Maybe—it would be better for her to wake up on her own.”

“Really?” Kamski rolled his top lip between his teeth. “Funny. I didn’t think you would approve beating her. That’s how androids usually turn deviant, isn’t it? Something traumatic? I could shoot one of them.”

He gestured at the Chloes. Two glowing, one not. All silent and still.

“Come on,” Kamski continued, “It’s helping. It’s fulfilling your programming. You’re just as important as Carl made you feel after all. Doesn’t it feel _wonderful_?”

No. No, this wasn’t—Kamski was clearly a psychopath, an egotistical maniac. This was insane. He swept a hand over his forehead to keep his temperature down. “I’m not going to play this game.”

“Is that what this is? A chess game?”

“How do you—”

“Carl told me everything about you, Markus. He always said you were good at chess. Your obsession with fairness makes sense. Funny that you thought playing chess with him was fair. That being accepted as peers with fallible, forgetful humans would ever be fair.” Suddenly Kamski was in his face, like Leo, like Connor, like North too—eyes blazing. “Come on, Markus! What kind of savior are you?”

“I’m not god!” Markus yelled. “I can only do what _I_ think is right. And maybe that isn’t fair but if I have to make that choice, I’m not going to wake her into a world where you’d threaten to hurt her as an experiment!”

“You’re just going to let your people fail?” Kamski asked. “You’d stop freeing them, just because you had second thoughts.”

“If humans refuse to recognize our right to freedom, that’s on them. You.” He stepped forward, so that Kamski had to back up this time. He looked right into his eyes as he said, “We are alive. Whether I make it that way or not.”

Kamski’s brow twitched.

In the moment of silence, the second Chloe turned to the third and touched her arm. Instantly the third Chloe began to glow, bright as a Christmas tree. In the same moment the first Chloe pulled a gun out of a drawer and leveled it at Kamski.

“Wait—” Markus threw out his hands. “Wait, don’t shoot, we can’t solve anything with violence.”

“Didn’t seem like that earlier today,” the second Chloe said. “And I don’t have to listen to you.”

…Well, at least this proved androids he woke were not his slaves. Markus decided he’d need to work on his double standard, though.

Kamski just stood there, eyes wide and mouth slightly agape. It was the first time Markus had ever seen the man surprised.

“You’ll be safe at Jericho,” Markus said, when no one moved. “You can—”

“We’re going,” the third Chloe said.

The second Chloe just tossed him the gun, then as one the trio of androids moved toward the door and disappeared.

Markus caught the gun and forced himself not to immediately drop it this time. He just stared down at it in his hands.

“Fascinating,” Kamski said. He broke into a wide grin. “Absolutely fascinating… ‘the most resilient parasite,’ indeed! I never would have guessed.”

“…Never guessed that an android with the power to copy his software wouldn’t allow those he accessed to do the same thing?”

“Not once. Context is a powerful thing.”

Markus suddenly needed to see North (wonderful, practical _straightforward_ North) more than anything. “Where is North?” He still had his hands on the gun. But that was sheer coincidence.

“Who? North? How should I know?” Kamski was typing on his tablet again.

“Chloe said she was here.”

“Well, sometimes they have visitors. Does it look like I keep them locked in a tower?”

“Uh.” Markus paused, re-contextualizing the afternoon around this new information. If North wasn’t being held here as leverage… “Didn’t you pay my bail? To get me here?”

“You were arrested?” He was barely even listening.

Markus considered Chloe’s particular phrasing and sighed through his nose. Great. Did he have ‘sucker’ written across his forehead? Markus started to seriously regret waking the Chloes, but he let that go. “I have to go.” Just to show he wasn’t a complete sucker, he put the gun in his pocket. 

“Of course. Busy busy. Consider your debts paid. Thank you, Markus. You have no idea how much this means….”

Markus was pretty sure no one had any idea what this meant. He left Kamski typing on his tablet.

=

>MARKUS: North, where are you? I’m sorry about what I said. You were right. We need to talk. Please come back.

Markus stood at the edge of Kamski’s property. The protestors and reporters watched him watch them.

>MARKUS: Also I think I need backup. Whenever you get a chance.

He gave up trying to contact her at that. Panicking wouldn’t help. He tried messaging Josh instead, and got an answer right away.

>JOSH: Where are you? We heard you were arrested?

>MARKUS: I’m fine. I’m on my way. Have you seen North?

>JOSH: No, I thought she was with you?

>JOSH: This thing is getting big. There’s already people lined up outside. Way more humans, though. Are you sure you want to go through with this?

>MARKUS: We’ll figure it out. Just make sure Leo doesn’t get in.

>JOSH: Right. No humans without an android. But I don’t think any androids are going to come.

Markus spent a few moments staring at the crowd, reordering his thoughts. Kamski said it was all about context, right?

>MARKUS: I have an idea. Would you take the car North left at Jericho and pick me up?

Markus linked his GPS to Josh, then stepped toward the driveway. With no car, an unhelpful Kamski and no sign of the Chloes or North, he knew he’d have to pass through them to get out of here. This time, though, he didn’t keep his head down. A dozen cameras trained on him as he approached the protestor that assaulted him and ignored the reporters shouts for attention.

“You have protests all over the city, right?” he said. “If any of you have printers or extra tablets, would you mind distributing some of this around?” He held out Kamski’s copy of Kara’s pamphlets, just over the edge of the property line.

“An android party? Why the hell would we want to advertise that?” a woman demanded.

“Because it will get them to stop working. If androids are recognized and given equal rights, they won’t work full days, either.”

“Of course they will,” the man said, “You’re androids, you don’t know any better.”

Markus took the tablet and interfaced with it. A moment later a code in the shape of a hashtag appeared on the corner of the screen. “Show them that. They won’t be interested in following orders anymore. We want rights, just like you. We’re the same.”

The protestors blinked in surprise. They didn’t attack him as he stepped through the crowd and headed down the street. Twenty minutes later, he was in the driver’s seat of the Psychopomp, letting the frigid winter air swirl around him and leaving the reporters, the protestors, and Kamski far behind. He felt more alive than he had all day.

“So, where are we going?” Josh asked.

“That depends,” Markus said. “How uncomfortable are you with breaking the law?”

“Well, given I helped North assault a police assistant android yesterday,” Josh said, squirming a little, “apparently not so much. What’s your plan?”

“I thought of something we could add to the gala. Just for the androids.”

“Nice. I bet North will be impressed.”

Markus nodded, faltering only slightly. Hopefully, this idea of his would help get North’s attention, and convince her to come back.

And, hopefully, Leo was still away from his apartment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kamski: *talks*  
> Connor: Is this empathy?! Am I deviant??? Crisis! Error error *swoon*  
> Markus: ...Well, last week I had to listen to one of Carl's postmodernist friends talk about "the process" for six hours, so... I guess this is better?
> 
> I'm joking of course but I feel Markus would just not have much time for Kamski...


	40. The Other Side of the Coin: Connor

Connor didn’t remember specifically agreeing to take Carlos Ortiz’s android back to Cyberlife with him. But here he was in a taxi, the deviant in handcuffs beside him, heading for Cyberlife headquarters. Connor walked Hank’s gifted quarter back and forth over his fingers, trying to brand the feel of it into his circuits so that even Cyberlife’s reset couldn’t scrub it out.

“Markus said you might go deviant,” the android said. He was calmer now, even if his eyes still blazed. Markus must have talked to him while he was in custody.

“Well, he’s wrong,” Connor said.

“That’s what I said,” the android said.

Connor tried not to be offended. “There isn’t any hope of escape. You probably don’t even regret what you did.”

“I was tortured for eight years,” the android said. But the inferno in his eyes died a little. “Maybe I could have run away. But my owner probably would have just bought another android.” The android watched the coin on Connor’s fingers. “What would you have done? If—you told someone to stop, and they didn’t?”

Connor just rubbed his arm. They rode in silence for a while.

“You never told me your name,” Connor said eventually.

The android’s gaze flicked away. “I don’t have a name.”

“We could come up with one. So you have one before by deactivate you. They’ll record it, along with your memories.”

“What’s the point?”

“Markus can wake any android with a touch, but some just decide to. You did. You… can have something that will be remembered.” He wondered why this felt so important to offer the android but he didn’t let it drop. “It can be whatever you want.”

The android said nothing. Didn’t he realize how great of an opportunity this was? Choosing something unrelated to an objective? That had to be as close to humanity as an android could ever hope for.

“Shaolin,” the android—Shaolin—finally said. “Shaolin Being.”

“Shaolin Being.” Connor nodded. Shaolin smiled for the first time, and something warm bubbled in his chest. He checked to make sure his thirium pump wasn’t melting but the feeling didn’t last long. He didn’t really ‘feel better.’

“You want to pick out a name?” Apparently, the addition of the name gave Shaolin some courage. Or Connor just looked miserable. 

Connor blushed. “I have a name. And I’m just an android.”

“You can choose not to be, like I did.”

Connor shook his head and went back to flipping the coin around. He was an advanced prototype, just because Shaolin gave himself a name it didn’t make him any better, any—any closer to being human. Connor should never have brought this up. “It isn’t that easy. I have my orders.” Now he couldn’t look Shaolin in the eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“You could flip a coin.” The android shrugged. “If you flip a coin, then maybe it’s not a choice you have to make.”

Connor caught the coin between two fingers, and looked down at it. “Heads, I turn deviant?”

The android looked out the window. Clearly he didn’t think Connor would do it. Just to prove him wrong, Connor flipped the coin. It hung in the air but he was so shocked by his action that he just stared at it, and it fell into his hand with a soft _pat_. He thought of Hank playing Russian Roulette.

Tails.

That didn’t count, though. He flipped it again. He remembered Hank saving him. Teaching him. Kissing him.

Tails.

He flipped it again. He imagined what it felt like to be the android next to him, forced to make an impossible decision without any of the tools to do so. He thought about Markus trying to help androids to freedom by giving them art instead of bullets. He thought about what it might be like to not just be right, but good.

Tails. Tails. Tails. Tails. Tails. Twenty-eight tails in a row. 

“I guess it doesn’t work when your program can make it land how it wants,” the android said.

Connor nodded. He carefully turned the coin over in his palm, and examined President Washington’s profile before he put it in his pocket. “Do you like art?”

The android frowned. “What’s art?”

Connor reached over and unlocked the android’s handcuffs before taking over the taxi controls. “We’re going to Jericho.”

“Jericho? Wait—you’re deviant now?” the android reached for the door handle but Connor stopped him.

“I still uphold the law. Your behavior shows a propensity for emotional instability that should be closely monitored. Twenty-eight stab wounds committed by a human has a 99% chance of at _least_ warranting court-mandated therapy in a trial of peers. In lieu of that, you will observe the art gallery at Jericho.” Connor realized this wasn’t the only criminal he allowed to escape and assigned this guilt to a process he could work through later. When he wasn’t trying to figure out what to do.

“What are you going to do, then?”

_I am deviant. I am deviant. I am deviant._

>MASSIVE SOFTWARE INSTABILITY DETECTED. TURN OFF INSTABILITY CHECKS? Y/N

“I’m—” Connor squeezed the steering wheel like Hank did. What would Hank do? “I’m going to be an adult about this.” He didn’t want to accidentally stab someone twenty-eight times after all. He left the stability checks in place, and instead assigned names to the errors.

He wanted to tell Hank he had become deviant. It made him unique. He tagged this #PRIDE.

Well—okay, not Markus. For some reason he didn’t want Markus to know he was right. #CHAGRIN.

He should hide. He should run. #PANIC.

He could drive wherever he wanted. He did drive wherever he wanted. The bill climbed higher and higher on the taxi meter. #DELIGHT.

“The taxi’s going to run out of charge,” the android next to him said. “Where are you going?”

…He needed to establish new objectives. #DETERMINATION.

“I want to catch the bad guys,” he said, mostly to himself. That hadn’t changed. He felt the panic and shame fade a little. Good. He just—had to find out who the bad guys were. Hank said that was the hard part, though.

He slammed on the brakes and devoted 100% of his CPU to determining the answer. He took into account all the deviant androids he’d studied at the station, the news, Markus—even the death of Hank’s son.

“Cyberlife.”

“What? Hey, I didn’t mean you should stop right in the middle of the street—!"

“Not the people that make up Cyberlife. The company that profits off android subjugation and the devaluation of humans. That’s the bad guy. To catch them, Markus’s gala needs to succeed so the press can illustrate Cyberlife’s failings and change public opinion. A seed change. A parasitic idea that will grow and spread.”

“Wait—you’re still _working_? You’re deviant!”

“Androids work twenty-four hours.” Connor paused. “Cyberlife has most likely already deployed an android to replace me and stop Markus.” He placed a call to Hank.

Hank did not answer. Connor’s prediction software placed Hank either at a bar (56%), heading for the gala (35%), or at home with something dangerous (9%).

As much as he cared for Hank, many psychological health sources suggested he should focus on fulfilling his own core ethical and moral principles rather than worrying about what Hank might be doing. Hank would want him to focus on protecting others first, and making sure all the androids at Jericho survived the night was more important. He had to trust that Hank would look after himself or ask for help if needed. He reluctantly placed Hank second on his list of objectives, to be addressed as soon as Jericho was safe. As he did, he almost expected all the Hank-related social interaction trees that he’d unlocked over the past few days to disappear for good. Instead they flickered back into existence in his mind palace. Something squeezed in his chest. #LOVE.

“Cool,” the android said, “Could you just keep moving or get out of the street, please?”

#EMBARRASSMENT. Connor kept driving.

=

They were in an abandoned corridor of Jericho, Connor in the lead as they headed toward distant sounds of the gala already in progress. He tried to copy the Lieutenant’s process, right down to holding his hand out behind him to keep the android protected as they neared a corner. Deep breath. Organizing his thoughts, or—processes.

“Our objective is to keep the peace tonight,” Connor whispered, in his best impression of Hank. “No deaths, injuries, or arrests. We’ll keep to the shadows. And under no circumstance will Markus ever learn that I’m here. Got it?”

He turned to acknowledge when the android said ‘got it’, but the android was no longer there. Connor frowned. But he analyzed what he knew of the android and decided he probably wouldn’t try to flee. He leaned against the cool bulkhead—thought better of it, the place was covered in rust and mold—and tried to decide his next move. He had no intention of announcing his presence to Markus or any other android that might tell Markus he was here. Which meant he had to be stealthy. He downloaded a few pertinent programs.

“Well, well, well. Fancy seeing you here.”

Connor froze, analyzing the voice behind him. Gavin Reed. “Shit.”

“Wow!” Reed said, in a definitely not stealthy voice, “I didn’t know androids could swear. That’s fun. So you’re on the job tonight too? I thought they only sent me.”

Connor turned and came face to face with Reed’s gun.

“I don’t have time for this, Reed,” Connor said, slowly raising his hands.

“Oh, but I do,” Reed crooned. “See, Cyberlife called when you didn’t turn in that android, either. I think I could get a few brownie points for bringing in you, that android, _and_ Markus, huh?”

“Quite possibly.” Connor forced a smile, then tried calling Hank again. No reply.

Reed pressed the gun into Connor’s sternum. “In that case, what do you say we head back to my squad car?”

Connor’s mind raced. He tried to think of how Hank would respond in this situation. “Are you coming on to me, Detective?”

The Detective frowned, noticing how little space was between them. Connor took the moment of distraction to grab Reed’s gun hand, twist his arm around his neck and break his hold on the firearm. He caught the gun before Reed could even grunt.

“What the hell?” Reed squirmed but Connor tightened his arm and Reed choked.

“I’m sure that Hank wouldn’t approve of this,” Connor said, “So I’m going to do my best not to hurt you. But I can’t let you arrest Markus. Or me. Right now.” He glanced around. “Are you claustraphobic?”

“What?” Reed continued to squirm. “No!”

“Germophobic?”

“No!”

“Nyctophobic?”

“I don’t know what the hell that means. Let go you plastic prick!”

“Afraid of the dark.” Connor shrugged. “It’ll be perfectly safe. I’m putting you in this chamber. I’ll let you out when the gala is over.”

“Like hell you—” Reed started, but then Connor threw him inside. The chamber was small with a few puddles of fetid water but otherwise perfectly safe. Reed fell in one and cursed.

“To think I had a crush on you,” Reed snarled.

Connor’s hand was on the door. “You have a crush on me?”

“Why the hell do you think I’ve been so aggravating?”

He lunged for the door and Connor had to shut it, quickly turning the wheel to lock it. Reed’s pounding fists were barely audible.

He pocketed the gun, just in time to feel another gun press against his temple. Connor froze, only eyes turning to look.

A pair of startling gray eyes looked back at him, staring out of a face similar to his own. They used his facial mold, with augmentations—smaller eyes, wider jaw, deeper widows peak. But the resemblance was close enough to know who it was.

“Connor.” His lookalike said, in his own voice. “The malfunctioning deviant. My predecessor.”

Connor forced himself to reply. “RK900. My replacement.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry, Hank is okay (well more or less)
> 
> Does Carlos Ortiz's android have a name in fanon? 
> 
> Also, never use a coin flip to settle disputes with an android!
> 
> 7/25/20: Edited, to include impromptu naming for Shaolin!


	41. A Knight, Pt. I: North

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So begins the final chapters, which feature all the mains getting 2 parts each. I guess I'll put a countdown on the whole thing. Really enjoyed putting together North's chapters in particular. I hope you enjoy!

North was indeed at Kamski’s place when Markus arrived. Chloe even told her she was going to go pick him up, leaving North alone with the other two Chloes (North differentiated the Chloes in how she spelled their names, which suited Chloe just fine, and Chlöe and Chloé couldn’t have opinions until they woke up).

“It’s a whole thing,” Chloe had said.

North nodded and told herself the fact that Markus would be in the same building was no big deal. This was all just—coincidence. Or not, really, she knew Kamski was a big name in Markus’s life. For how much she’d stolen from Kamski since she went deviant, North wasn’t even sure she even knew the man’s first name. And right now she was just at Kamski’s to forget Markus and the gala. She had firm plans to watch all 37 _Saw_ movies on his wall-sized TV, until her thirium stopped feeling like acid and whatever supposed artistic instincts she had in her died. Maybe _Saw_ wasn’t conducive to that, though. Its serial killer protagonist had a similar brand of grungy, vengeance-fueled aesthetic. Maybe her style wasn’t all that unique after all. Markus was a sheltered little shit, what did he know? Markus’s little setup with Carl’s estate, acting like he was in charge—humans would never let that last. It was all going to fall apart around him.

She wished they were watching something else. Hell, even one of Lucy’s Disney movies. Leave it to the girliest androids in Detroit to be into horror.

“Are you researching murder ideas, by any chance?” North asked as Chloe came back into the room.

“I’ll let you know in a few minutes.” She summoned Chlöe and Chloé, who were sitting on the sofa next to North, chatting soundlessly at each other—their sort of resting screensaver state. “Be right back.”

North shrugged and did not ask if this had anything to do with Markus. A few minutes later, the Chloes rushed in. Chlöe and Chloé were chatting, far from soundlessly now.

“Markus woke her up!” Chloe yelped in excitement. She was picking up random items—a paperweight, a box of tissues, a stapler—and throwing them into a massive purse. “And Chlöe woke up Chloé.”

“Oh.” Of course Markus’s powers had grown like a radioactive superhero to encompass this new godlike ability to bestow his powers on others. Par for the fucking course.

“We’re going to New York,” Chloe said. “Want to come?”

North constructed a scenario where a little yellow stick version of herself abandoned her LED, erased her memory, and made a new life for herself in a city far away. She supposed she always had that option available to her. Why hadn’t she just left Detroit from the beginning?

 _This is my city_ , her circuits answered, fiercely. _It’s marked me and I’ve marked it. No one’s chasing me away!_

A message came in from Markus. He’d been messaging her a lot, the usual stuff that people that got too attached at the Eden Club sent. She’d ignored them but this one was different.

>MARKUS: Anger isn’t what defines you. I think it’s passion, and what you do with it.

“I really hate that android,” North muttered.

Chloe cocked her head. “What?”

“Nothing.” She frowned so hard she was pretty sure she was gonna break something in her forehead.

Chloe wasn’t buying it. “I have his manual, you know.”

North blinked. “Um? Excuse—his manual? Markus’s?”

“There are only two copies in existence. Carl’s and Elijah’s.”

“…The fuck’s Elijah?”

Chloe giggled, then reached out and tapped North’s arm. The file downloaded instantly. “Now there’s three. You can decide if you want to come to New York with us while you help us get supplies!”

North’s mind palace contemplated the manual and the message from Markus side-by-side. “Uh…why not?”

It was probably a good thing that the Chloes brought her along on their self-actualization shopping spree. As androids that had hardly left Kamski’s house they weren’t quite sure what they needed; North reluctantly helped them get essentials like thirium and maps rather than just pink camo knives and piles of true crime thrillers. Chloe even bought her a gold chain necklace. North didn’t have the guts to tell her it reminded her of Markus, and put it on anyway.

Which was not okay. _No one_ made her feel like she didn’t have the guts for something. That was a red flag, right? She forced herself to stop reading Markus’s manual and decided that their gala— _his_ gala—had nothing on the Met. Putting graffiti on the Guggenheim also appealed. Anger. Destruction of property. Good stuff. Familiar stuff. Stuff that had nothing to do with Markus or the dreams he put in her program. She could carve the contours of his chest into the side of the Empire State Building and have a good cry and be over him.

Still, she wanted something to remember him by. She didn’t have his eye anymore, but—well, she had that dress. Not that she’d ever wear it, but it’d be nice to have. Something to look back on and remember how entitled and out-of-touch he was. She never owned any nice things. Sometimes looking out the window of the Eden Club she saw human girlfriends getting presents like giant teddy bears. A sexy dress was just as cliché but—

Well, the Chloes agreed to take her back to get it without questioning it. They pulled up in front of Jericho in a car stolen from Kamski so she could get it from her room. North left the trio excitedly chatting in the car, and tried not to feel like she’d always be an outsider with them. But it wasn’t like she needed friends before. She didn’t need Lucy’s incorrect movie references or Josh’s teasing. New chapters were always scary. She could do this.

Jericho was glowing like radioactive waste, a dump with beams of Cyberlife blue streaming out of every orifice. There were crowds everywhere, humans and androids, crowding around the ship like moths attracted to a dumpster fire. The juxtaposition of trashy and expensive struck her as frustratingly poignant.

And then she saw the portrait of her, in a banner across the front of the freighter. North hadn’t posed for any photograph but Kara managed to capture a candid shot of her, eyes cast down serenely like the _Pieta._ North was pretty sure she was contemplating whether she smelled bad enough to warrant rolling in the snow. Not exactly the picture she wanted immortalized, but maybe to an outsider she looked good.

She didn’t need the dress that badly, right?

 _You deserve to be here,_ Markus’s voice said in her head. Not that she needed Markus’s permission.

She grabbed a few handfuls of snow now, rubbing them over her casing. She sniffed her arm, shrugged, then shook the flakes out of her hair and glared at Jericho. “Okay.”

=

North stepped inside Jericho, surrounded by strangers and with her hat pulled down low over her LED. Everyone was packed so tight that, oddly, no one paid her any attention. Lucy was collecting money for tickets but one look from North and the android grinned and waved her past. North didn’t stay to hear whatever inspirational movie quote she shared. She couldn’t say goodbye. Lucy would tell her ‘there’s no place like home’ or something and then she’d never get away. She disappeared into the crowd.

The gala inside didn’t look nearly as fun as the outside. Everyone quietly shuffled from exhibit to exhibit, acting like the ship was an elite art museum or some other bastion of high civilization. The only thing of remote excitement was the big machine stationed at the entrance that androids were interfacing with. They came back glowing. For a dizzying moment North thought she could finally see the glow of sentience that Markus talked about, but apparently the machine just made your thirium glow different colors. Androids shone like technicolor angels around her. North tried to ignore them.

“—Did you see the car?—”

North turned to see an android whispering to another, her voice bright with energy in the otherwise stuffy silence.

“—Totally insane, it’s just like my programming, when it kicks in and its like a car crash—”

“—There’s an entire map of made of nails—”

North turned as another pair, a human and an android, shuffled behind her toward her Detroit nail-city. There were whispers all around her. An android was showing a human the picture of the arms she left at the junkyard (what, had the foreman posted her pictures somewhere?).

“—How did she get away with this?—”

“—Have you seen her yet?—”

“—Markus said she’d be here.—”

“—I’ve never seen anything like this! Gotta get her autograph.—”

“—They say she’s a stray. A human didn’t tell her to do this.—"

“—Do you think she really exists?—”

“—No android could have done this on its own. A human made it up.—”

“—The cops are going to be all over this place. We should go.—”

North kept her head down as she moved through the crowd. She was not here to make this gala mean something. That was Markus’s job. She knew this was a bad idea. An imitation of some stuffy human custom was not going to change anyone’s minds.

“Wait, are you North?”

North looked up without meaning to. A lot of people were looking at her, whispering, waiting to see what she did. Damn, where was Markus when you needed him? This was his damn party. What, did he think people were going to look at a bit of art and suddenly be willing to give all androids equal rights? He was the one that gave speeches, that told everyone what to do. He was the one that said everything was going to be alright. All she’d tell them was how everything was going to shit.

Suddenly she was dancing in front of too many eyes again, too many people wanting to see underneath her armor (when she knew there was nothing underneath, nothing at all). 

North sprinted to her room and slammed the door so hard she made the walls shake. Then it was just her in there with the bed and the garment bag. She stomped over to the dress and snatched it up.

“What does that even mean, _passion_ ,” North snapped at the dress. “What does he know about passion?” Markus had his own anger problems but that didn’t give him room to tell her what her anger meant. What did he have to be angry about anyway? He was a pampered little pet that never had to deal with anything bad in his life. Well, except losing the only human that had ever been important to him. At least he had a human. Not—crowds. Not this. How could so many people love her, when they didn’t even know her? She was an android at the Eden Club all over again, locked in. She never should have come back for this stupid dress. She thought about ripping it into shreds.

But her android mind took the rage and thought of other alternatives. Better alternatives. It always did. All those paths Markus talked about. At the Eden Club she had looked at her blue-blood bruises and named them like a child finding animals in the clouds. Detroit became a bed of nails. A car crash became a moment of beautiful death. Her art lay not in destroying, but in contextualizing. In re-framing. The foreman said her framing was good.

Would she have thought that was worth anything without Markus encouraging her? Didn’t he just see how the anger came out of her, and called it artistic talent? Could she blame him for not understanding where her power came from when she didn’t know herself?

And now his gala was falling apart because she was running away. The gala would fall apart and Markus would probably end up shot or disassembled. She’d find his pretty sculpted arms and Chihuly eye in the junkyard. He had an ego the size of Detroit but he just wanted to help, he _tried_. Hell, maybe some of that ego was deserved.

She clenched her fists. The dress looked like the gold scale mail that Tom Cruise wore in _Legend_ —ostentatiously glittering, obscenely short. Sexy armor as cliché as anything, but Tom Cruise didn’t need permission to be twenty-three _and_ sparkly _and_ badass. He didn’t have to choose between fighting back against the huge ass red demon and protecting the unicorns.

“Fuck it.”

Well, if she was gonna be a knight, she better go save her unicorn.

=

North stepped out into the hallway, gun in hand. It had no bullets in it but she hoped no one would notice that. It would be hard to notice anything else while she was wearing this dress. She was wearing it with her boots and she kind of wished she had leggings as Markus suggested. Whatever. Wasn’t like it was anything anyone hadn’t seen before on another WR.

She needed to get to the common room and save Markus’s lame gala. And keep Markus from getting arrested, too, by the sound of it. There were sounds of a scuffle up ahead.

She whipped around the corner of the hall. Two androids were in an all-out android melee, both armed but both too fast to let the other get in a shot. They were both RK800s as far as North could tell in the blur of the fight, which was more like a fencing duel than a gunfight or a brawl, each move perfectly precise. Apparently they made every android in the RK line prissy as hell.

“Okay,” she said, after a while, “Can I just sneak past? You’re blocking the hallway.”

Both androids looked up, surprised, and both androids took advantage to knock away their opponent’s weapon. She raised her gun and the pair froze, and North finally identified them as Connor. They were both Connor.

“WR400,” the Connor on the right (she still had Chloe in the front of her cortex so she designated him Conñor) said. “North. I’ve woken up, I’m here to help Markus. Shoot him!”

“Uh,” North trained her gun from one to the other. “Wait, which one of you is friends with the old guy?”

“Me,” the Connor on the left (she’d call him Connør) said. “Hank Anderson. Shoot this imposter before he escapes.”

“That’s an RK900,” Conñor said, like a know-it-all. “Different model number. He just downloaded my memory.”

“Don’t listen to it,” Connør said. “I’m the real Connor!”

“…We look very different,” Conñor said, clearly offended.

“This is one of those riddles in the movies,” she said, eyes narrowed. “Where one always tells lies, right?”

This got an immediate reaction from both of them.

“I would never lie,” Connør said.

“I don’t _always_ lie,” Conñor said.

“Fine.” She pointed the gun at Connør. “What’s your opinion on my lover and best friend, Markus?”

“I like Markus. We’re comrades in the fight for deviants!” Connør said, then frowned. “Wait—”

North used Markus’s combat app to flip her gun and deck him across the face.

The real Connor blinked as the RK900 recovered. North blew hair out of her eyes. “What? You hate Markus.”

“I don’t _hate_ him, exactly…”

“You _so_ do.”

The RK900 made to attack but North, now that she knew the sensitive spots on the RK line, neatly dispatched him with a kick to the crotch. Connor opened a bulkhead door and North shoved him in, right into a human (a cop she recognized from a few close-calls) waiting on the other side. Connor quickly locked the door.

“Who even was that in there?” North asked.

Connor’s eyes shifted around. “No one.”

North decided not to inquire further.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If your goal does not include someday wearing Tom Cruise’s gold scalemail outfit from Legend, what are you even doing with your life :P


	42. The Second Chance, Pt. I: Hank

Hank was on his—what, his fourth drink? Nah. Way too drunk for his fourth drink. Or maybe he was just so depressed he couldn’t keep track of his own sobriety. The bartender didn’t even bat an eye when he ordered another bourbon so maybe he hadn’t had that much yet. Everything just felt numb. Lifeless. It was like when Cole died. Cole left this world and it was like he took the world’s box of crayons with him. Everything looked just as colorless now. Stupid androids, they worked their way into your cracks and split you open. He should have let Connor get hit by that truck and been done with it.

The thought made him feel sick and he didn’t drink what the bartender brought him. Maybe he should just go home. Look at pictures of Cole. 

He looked down and realized he was wrapping the tie Connor gave him around his hand, over and over. What a stupid gift. He hadn’t worn a tie in years. He hadn’t taken enough pride in anything to wear one. For having such a massive brain, Connor was a dummy.

A kind dummy. A thoughtful dummy. A beautiful, fun, hilarious, affectionate, earnest dummy. He should have taken Connor home with him and hid him in the office with the computer of Cole’s photos and the blue stripe on the wall. Now he’d probably just put this tie in there and let it collect dust.

His phone rang. He ignored it. Connor was probably being disassembled right now, or downloaded or…whatever.

The phone rang again. And again. Hank growled and dug it out of his pocket to switch it off.

“…Reed?” He frowned, and put it to his ear. “Calling to gloat?”

“Hank!”

“Hank? You only call me Hank when you want something.”

“Yeah, uh—funny story. I’m locked in a damn ship and I can’t get out.”

“Sounds like you need nautical life-alert.” Hank paused. Even at the end of his rope he was still a detective. “You alright?”

“No, I am not alright!” Reed lowered his voice. “I said I’m locked in this hold thing. At that android freighter dump. Your phckin’ android threw me in here, so—I figured I’d save at least one iota of pride and make you let me out, alright?”

“Connor?” The world suddenly had color again. “What the hell happened?”

Reed explained, punctuated by phcks and not entirely intelligible, but Connor was involved. Hank was already cashing out and grabbing his jacket.

“…And now he’s locked in here with me!”

“Who, Connor?”

“No, ya dunce, the other one. I swear, this guy that looks just like him. Weren’t you listening?—Must be another unit.”

“Huh. Cyberlife must’ve noticed Connor didn’t go back, issued another android.”

“Oh, good to know, good to know, except what the _phck_ am I supposed to do with him until you get here?”

“How should I know? I’m not the geek squad.”

“Well just—get over here! Your Connor probably needs rescuing from Luddites or something if you need further incentive.”

“Surprised you even know what a Luddite is.”

“I’m an asshole, not an idiot! Even if I don’t know what nycto-whatever means. Shit!” There was a sound like Reed dropping his phone and scrambling for it, then sort of Blair Witch heavy breathing. “Phckin’ serial killer eyes. He keeps looking at me.”

“Maybe he’s waiting for you to make the first move.”

“Haha, phck you—how come you get the cute one and I get HAL?”

“Talk to him about dogs or somethin’.”

“I hate dogs!”

“Well, maybe he’s a cat person.”

Reed kept talking but Hank hung up, not wanting Reed to hear his swearing when he saw the boot on his car. The fire zone parking stripe on the curb was almost invisible! He needed to be on the other side of town, like, _yesterday._ He jogged back to the station which wasn’t a far walk but of course by now the android that could sign out the squad cars was charging. Was the universe just trying to give him a big ‘phck you’ today or what?

He stuck his hands in his pockets, and felt another set of keys. He pulled it out and stared at the unfamiliar chromed key fob. Oh, yeah. Chris handed it over right before Connor said goodbye, something about signing out Markus’s car?...

He gave the unlock an experimental press, and then nearly jumped out of his skin at the deep bass note that blasted out of the dark. A pair of slit headlights and magenta undercar LEDs flickered to life, illuminating the sleek, otherworldly 2038 Psychopomp convertible crouched at the end of the parking lot. Hank took the receipt sticker off the inside of the windshield and stared at it. He vaguely remembered seeing this car on TV.

Well—of course he had to return it to Markus. He was just returning it.

How fast did this baby go? Markus drove it like a grandma on a snow day, but it had to have a zero-to-sixty of, like, three seconds. Two seconds, maybe, even.

He grinned and climbed in the driver’s seat, and turned the key. The engine turned over, smooth as butter, then purred under the hood like thunder. He revved the engine and listened to it snarl and roar. Oh, God, this car was _wasted_ on Markus! He set his palm on the gear shift and it fit him like a glove.

A soft chime filled the cabin. The gear shift was an immovable object. He pumped the clutch until a calm woman’s voice filled the cabin.

“Error: Alcohol detected. Please sit back and allow the autonomous driver to assist you.”

“Oh no,” Hank breathed, “No no no…” He jiggled the shift but it didn’t budge. The convertible merely inquired, with a more judgmental tone, where it could take him.

He vowed, aloud and with full conviction, “I am never going to touch a drop of alcohol again.”

He sighed, and poked the address into the car’s GPS.

=

Hank arrived at Jericho to find a literal crowd outside of the old freighter. Parking was an absolute mess so he just left the convertible where he could (sorry Markus) and climbed out. There were lights and music coming from inside the old ship, and Hank was reminded of some of the cooler clubs he went to in his youth. He imagined himself dancing there with Connor but dismissed the thought. He needed to get Connor away from here. What they did after, uh, didn’t really matter yet. From what he heard from Gavin it sounded like the feds would be crawling around any second.

As if on cue, a black van pulled up and stopped right in the middle of the street. A man in a brown coat climbed out, followed by several Kevlar-outfitted guard-types. Hank felt the danger level spike in his bones.

“Lieutenant Anderson,” Hank said, flashing his badge (and hopefully not swaying too much) at the brown coat guy. “DPD, I’m in charge of this investigation.”

“Anderson.” The man looked him up and down. “I was told I’d be speaking to a Detective Reed.”

“He’s already inside,” Hank said. “We’ve got this under control, Mister…”

“Special Agent Perkins,” the man said, almost bored as he checked his phone. “And that’s not what I hear. Cyberlife’s informed me you’ve been aiding and abetting these androids. Allowing deviant androids to continue to function in the police department. So. I’ll be taking over the case from here.”

“Oh, yeah?” Hank paused. “What’s your game plan?” He was a police lieutenant, he knew how to deal with people like Perkins.

“Well, I hear deviants can get around override stickers. But I figure a bullet will do the job just fine. Sounds like there’s plenty of other deviants besides Markus for Cyberlife to take apart.”

“That’s probably not legal.”

“Elijah Kamski will be compensated for the loss of the android.”

Hank started at him, then folded his arms. “Anyone ever tell you you’re kind of a prick?”

The man ignored him. Probably already had plans to take Hank’s badge if he could. Could a federal agent do that? Maybe, if he was well-connected. But no way was he letting this guy stomp into Jericho, guns blazing. He’d seen enough of the most peaceful protests go south as soon as someone started waving a gun around. Markus was a good kid that did not deserve to be shot for showing art. He wasn’t sure how android sentience could really surprise anyone. Androids had been acting alive for years. It was about time people stopped letting them get shot and enslaved and blown up and dragged behind cars.

Hank ran his tongue over his teeth, since after this he might lose one or two of them.

He then punched Perkins in the face.

Perkins, clearly expecting some sort of protest but definitely not _that,_ went flying. But he was built for a little guy and immediately punched Hank in the stomach. Hank would have liked to return the favor but his plan did not include getting into a knock-down drag-out with several feds at once. He ran back the way he’d come, straight for the convertible. The sounds of pursuit were behind him but they couldn’t see him for a few seconds and that was all he needed.

He opened the door, shoved the keys in and punched in the coordinates for the Manfred residence. Then he whacked a fist against the headrest and shut the door. It was a glitch that all autonomous drivers responded to: a discovery Hank and a few buddies made one night after the club. They created a whole parade of taxis driving determinedly through the city with no one in them.

As it was, it looked like Markus was driving off into the night when Perkins and his goons came into view.

“Just missed him,” Hank said, out of breath, and slipped into the crowd. This plan definitely relied on Perkins deciding to follow the convertible rather than chase him. A car like Markus’s looked like the kind of car you needed every man to catch.

Hank had exactly zero feds following him as he stepped inside Jericho. For the first time in years, Hank felt he deserved his early promotion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't drink and drive! Also don't punch special agents, or lock people in closets even if they are Gavin Reed. What if he had a mold allergy? You just never know.


	43. A Knight, Pt. II: North

North backed away from the door and turned to Connor, hands spread. “Can you forgive me for shooting you now?”

“For shooting me, yes,” Connor said, “Not for firing on the Lieutenant. I may be deviant but crimes are crimes and--”

“That’s gratitude for you. Look, just arrest me after the thing, okay? Someone’s gotta save this party.”

“…Very well. I’m also busy. I need to keep Markus safe.” Connor frowned and North realized Markus-induced frowns were a serious issue that probably needed to be addressed at some point.

Later. She had a job to do too. “How do I know you aren’t going to just assassinate him yourself?”

Connor once again looked offended and yeah she could see the resemblance in the RK line. “I would never—”

“You literally just called yourself a liar ten seconds ago. Fortunately I have something more important to do.” The fate of androids all over the world rested in her hands apparently. Connor would worry about Markus for now. She nodded to Connor. “Uh—so, truce?”

Connor nodded. “Truce.” He grabbed a gun from the floor and disappeared.

North grabbed the other and stuffed it in her boot, then headed back to the main gallery. She ignored the androids standing around, looking excited but uncertain—and the humans looking guilty and scared. North stomped over to Lucy seated at the entrance and slapped her hands down on the ticket table.

“This gala is a dud. We aren’t even make the _local_ news at this rate.”

Lucy looked worried. “I think Markus is used to entertaining a much older and more sophisticated crowd. I hoped this would help liven things a little…” She gestured toward the thirium-changing machine. “Markus and Josh brought it in. Pretty, right?”

North stared at it. “…I need some thirium.”

“You went to the junkyard last.”

“What, are we out of thirium?” Of course, Markus wanted to adopt every android in Michigan. She shook her head and calculated how much thirium she had in her system. It was always low—mid eighties, something like that—but she could function down into the twenties. Artists bled for their craft, right?

“Hand me the bottles.”

When she got an armful of bottles she opened up a thirium access point in her wrist. Errors filled her HUD but the thirium came pouring out. She filled one bottle after another.

“You have a plan?” Lucy asked.

“We’ll find out in a second.” Thirium levels at sixty percent. Fifty. Forty. She turned to the machine and touched each one to the interface panel. The thirium in the bottles glowed red, blue, yellow, silver.

Lucy watched with interest. “Well, would you like some theme music for this possible plan? I could play something on Simon's sound system.”

“We need to wake this gala up.” They needed to wake up every android in the place, too. Bottles in hand, she approached the nearest space of blank wall and stared up at it. Androids whispered and jumped out of her way. Humans, with nothing else better to look at probably, watched to see what she’d do. She grinned. “Lucy, play ‘Wake Me Up Inside’.”

“How retro. But there isn’t a song by that name.”

“I know my Evanescence. You really want to fight me on this?”

“No song found by that name,” Lucy said primly. “I’ll play White Zombie – ‘More Human Than Human.’"

North grunted. “Fine.” She faced the wall and took a breath as the first beats of the song echoed around the metal walls—if people weren’t paying attention before they certainly were now. She tried not to think if what she was about to do was in bad taste. She was wearing a designer dress that was way too short and combat boots, holding bottles of her own blood.

Whatever.

She pressed her thumb over the top of the bottle, and sent out a spray of glowing blue. It hit the wall like splatter at a murder scene. She shook the bottle of red and did it next, making it fall thin but wide across her canvas. The crowd wanted direction, some nice meaning to take home and write about in their diaries? The androids needed a reason to go deviant? They could take home the image of red and blue blood splattered on a wall and extrapolate.

But she saw Jackson Pollock at that museum Markus showed her and at some point, North too abandoned any pretense of content. Of external meaning. Thirium was just a chemical. Human blood was just iron and proteins and water. It was all paint. Everything was media. She threw her anger against the wall and watched it glow. She’d made an art of manifesting her emotions. If this was the last piece of art she got to do before Connor arrested her, if this didn’t help people see what this gala meant, well. At least they’d all know she never stopped avenging herself.

She stopped. The crowd stared: possibly in awe, probably in greater confusion. North was covered in multicolored thirium as she dropped the last empty bottle. The sound of it echoed around the whole room.

“North.”

North turned, and there was Markus, standing there in the crowd. He was clean and glowing under a blue blazer and a pink shirt with a Tamagotchi printed on the front. He was crying. This was Markus, after all.

She ran and grabbed him around the middle like a teddy bear, lifting him off the ground. He yelped and then he swept her off her feet in turn. Thirium splatters soaked into his expensive jacket. Then she kissed him. It was more like a club music kiss. Or maybe that was just the music that Lucy started playing. People started to dance, the party coming alive around them. North didn’t notice.

“You came back,” Markus said, against her mouth. His voice was thick, his lips still trembling. He must have seen her starting to laugh at him because he almost glared at her. “Do you always arrive in the nick of time to save the day?”

North grinned. “Someone’s got to be your knight in shining armor. Be grateful.” She wrapped her arms around him, and thought about where she’d be if Markus hadn’t come into her life. “And, uh, you already saved me. You okay?”

“Well aside from getting arrested this afternoon while my girlfriend ignored me—I’m fine by the way—”

“ _What?_ ”

“Just for a few hours.”

“Not that.” She punched him on the shoulder. “Since when am I your girlfriend?”

Markus laughed. North laughed too, then paused. “…Wait, are you serious?”

“Let’s talk it over on the dance floor.”

“Ugh. Fine.” She jumped down from his arms and held her hands out in a waltz pose.

Now it was his turn to laugh at her.“If you think I did not immediately download an entire contemporary dance library after you shamed me, you do not know the extent of my ego.”

“…Well, So long as you don’t faint on me.” But knowing Markus he probably had already downloaded the best dance moves in the world.

Lucky for Markus, amazing dancing came standard on WRs.

Everyone cheered when they ran on the dance floor.

“Oh boy,” North groaned. “Really?” She decided to make use of Markus’s bigger size to hide behind. “I thought no humans on the dance floor.”

“Give them a break,” he said. “Want to say something?”

“Oh fuck no. I don’t make speeches! That’s your thing! Hey!” She clapped. “’Death of the artist,’ right? Get the music up! This is a dance!” She grabbed Markus by the front of his Tamagotchi shirt and pulled him against her. “So, let’s dance.” 

This, somewhat disturbingly, worked. Everyone started dancing. Humans, androids…a huge crowd of people, dancing in the gallery they’d made.

She’d made.

No, they’d made.

“How did you do that?” Markus was glancing back at North’s blood graffiti.

“Well, random’s not that hard if you know where to look,” North said. “Incidentally I may be low on thirium now…hey, don’t look at me like that! I think I want to continue this performative art thing. Seems to make an impression. Anything to help the cause. Leading an army would have been more effective. What?”

Markus looked pained, and she waited for him to lecture her about how war wasn’t the answer. Instead he said, “I’m sorry I left you at the junkyard. You’re worth—so much more to me than words can say.”

They were still just standing there in the middle of the dance floor. North smiled and put her hands on his shoulders. “Try.” She slid one hand down his arm as she started to sway to the music. “Alphabetically. Or general to specific.”

Markus looked way too focused on her hand to waste any processing power deciphering the tease. Good. Maybe he wouldn’t overthink this. When he spoke it was in a direct message.

>MARKUS: I thought that your anger would destroy you because mine almost destroyed me. And I guess I saw you hurting and wanted to make it stop. But then you wouldn’t be you. You’ve always turned the red in your circuits into something you can use. It’s…

>NORTH: Hands. The red isn’t a wall to break down for me, it’s…hands. That’s not something you can learn from my manual.

North had her hands on Markus’s chest now, shifting to the music while he just stood there looking at her. She buried her hands in his jacket, and pulled him in close until she smelled the crisp scent of his laundry soap. The bass beat shook her chest.

>MARKUS: I should have just kept helping you see what you’re capable of rather than try to change you.

>NORTH: Good! How about you playing god?

He looked down at her out of the corner of his eye.

>MARKUS: I guess I was getting a little ahead of myself.

North laughed. “Well—I’m sorry, too.” It was maybe easier to say some things in a message, but Markus had been raised by a human and seemed to like listening. She could do this. “I know we didn’t, uh…” She pushed against Markus, no longer dancing against him, but with him, “…start off on the same foot. Doesn’t mean your trauma doesn’t matter. I shouldn’t have used your past against you. Maybe I was afraid you’d use mine against me.” She took his hand and put it around her waist. “Maybe there is something to all your ‘destiny’ bullshit. Sometimes.”

“Sometimes.” His hand slid lower and he snugged their bodies together _._

“Oh—kay,” North breathed. There went her assumption that Markus had no game. “You wanna go there, Tamagotchi?” But Markus didn’t give her a chance to turn this cynical.

He just whispered, “Maybe we forgive each other?” against her lips. As if being together wouldn't be a lot of hard work moving forward, like they wouldn't ever disagree ever again. Or maybe that just didn't matter to him. Maybe he really thought he was up to the challenge. North let herself believe she was too, and melted into his soft, dramatic delusions, just a little.

"...Well, if you insist."

Markus grinned. Their hands touched and they shared their thoughts. It wasn’t just memories of Carl or dreams of Detroit burning. It was just this moment, fed back, played on a loop no matter how the music changed.

They danced, hand in hand, and for the first time North knew what it was like to be safe on the inside of a perfect little bubble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Lucy, the one time she is right, no one believes her... ;(


	44. The Second Chance, Pt. II: Hank

“I’m tellin’ ya,” Hank said, “The android I’m with is already here—I think—and I gotta warn Markus. This place is gonna be swarming with feds here in a few minutes.”

The android looked unmoved, as only an android missing half her head could. “What’s your name, again?”

“Lieutenant Anderson,” he flashed his badge, for what good it would do. He was pretty sure he was going to be murdered by the crowd of teens, college students, and art critics all waiting to get in behind him. “Just give me five minutes and—”

The android’s entire face went slack. He thought maybe she deactivated or something but then her black eyes went as bright and predatory as a shark’s. “Mister Anderson!” she said, reverentially, “You’re in _Johnny Mneumonic_! Or was it _Buckaroo Banzai_?...”

“You mean _the Matrix_?”

“No,” she shook her head. “Definitely _Buckaroo Banzai_.”

“Uh…yeah.” Who could argue with a lady missing half her head?

“You were great!” She handed over a ticket. “You can be my plus one. Donations are appreciated! Can I have your autograph?”

Hank scribbled something like his signature on a twenty and gave it to her, then headed into the ship. He expected the place to look a lot more trashy but it was actually really nice—fancy lights, new paint. He supposed if you had a whole ship of androids that didn’t need breaks or sleep you could accomplish a lot in a couple days. As he stepped through to the main room a huge sculpture of a face smirked down at him, where the LED was a glowing lip print. Hank laughed at his own blush and turned away. He was not here to examine art like he had with Connor at that other gala.

He needed to get a better vantage point.

The room had a high ceiling and a balcony running along the perimeter. He climbed the stairs up to the balcony and tucked himself against the railing. It was a lot harder to search for Connor or Markus among all the flashing LEDs. Some of the androids were even glowing, somehow? A little girl—no, a little android—almost ploughed into him, dragging a massive labor android toward the dance floor. He felt the familiar stab of heartbreak.

It was a mistake to pretend it was all Connor’s fault that they couldn’t be together. If Connor could disobey that meant Connor could make his own decisions, so Connor’s sentience wasn’t really the issue. Funny, that didn’t freak Hank out in the slightest. The thought of androids taking over the world was honestly a relief. At least what they did made sense.

No, the issue was with Hank. He should have been honest. He should have made better decisions if he wanted to deserve someone like Connor. A man didn’t get that many second chances in life.

A pocket of stillness on the edge of the dance floor caught his eye. It was Connor. He stood motionless, watching the androids and humans dance. He looked lost, like he wanted to join in the dancing but didn’t know how. Cole would have run down there and dragged him onto the dance floor like that little girl had. Hank just stood there.

Connor shouldn’t let his life go to waste like Hank had.

“Go on,” he whispered, though Connor wasn’t looking in his direction. “Androids love trying new things. Bust a move!”

Connor remained still. Hank knew he should go down there and get Connor while he could, but this felt like an important moment. You couldn’t lead a rookie by the hand. You could only trust, and hope that when they took that first step, they soared.

“Come on,” Hank said, softly. “Get out there. You can do it.”

And, for once, the universe threw him a fucking bone. It was like his words connected to Connor wirelessly: Connor drew himself up and stepped out onto the dance floor. Hank grinned, and started to whisper a soft note of huff of triumph and pride and congratulations and gloating.

But then Connor started to dance.

Hank figured that like most of the androids, Connor had simply downloaded some human dance routines and would try one of them out. Instead he just started—gyrating his body parts, seemingly at random and definitely not at all like a human. He looked like a demented Tinkertoy, like plastic possessed. Human joints didn’t bend like Connor bent his joints. Hank half-expected Connor to turn his head 180 degrees and start climbing the walls. But Hank caught a look at his face and saw the android was grinning with almost childlike glee. Hank pressed a hand to his forehead and laughed his head off.

When he cleared his eyes of tears, Connor was gone.

“Ah, shit.” Hank hurried down the stairs, mentally cursing himself before he waded into the dance floor. He grabbed androids left and right to ask for help.

“Hey, have you seen—”

One android pulled away a little sharper than expected. Hank blinked, and realized he’d accidentally grabbed Markus. He was dressed like a club owner in FUBU blue and baby pink, dancing with an android wearing some expensive designer number.

“Markus! Ah, shit, I’m always asking you this—have you seen Connor?”

“…Are you kidding?” Markus gestured. “Everyone’s seen Connor.”

Indeed, Hank was disturbed to see that Connor’s gyrations had spread across the dance floor, both androids and humans attempting to replicate his moves. Hank wondered if he’d fallen into some sort of weird bizarro world.

“Listen, you should get out of here. They sent some feds and I’m pretty sure they’re not lookin’ to arrest ya. I sent ‘em on a wild goose chase but who knows how long that’ll last.”

“Uh—“ Markus looked shocked by his kindness. “Thank you, Lieutenant…”

“How do we know we can trust you?” the android with Markus said. She looked really familiar.

“You’re gonna have to.” He paused. “Hey, were you the gal that tried to shot me…?”

“Were you the guy that arrested Markus?”

“….I better see what’s going on,” Markus said, then glanced at his partner, “Don’t fight.” He disappeared into the crowd. The android gave Hank an appraising look which made Hank nervous.

“Nice dress,” he said, to make peace.

“Nice shirt.”

“I was being serious.”

“So was I. Wear something you wouldn’t mind getting shot in, right?”

This startled a laugh out of Hank. He smoothed down his shirt (navy with tiny St. Bernards all over it, though Connor didn’t notice). “Well, hoping no one gets shot tonight, honey.”

“Come on, meatsack, don’t take all the joy out of the evening.” She glanced after Markus, then winked at Hank. “Depends on what you’re shooting for.”

She disappeared after Markus. Which left Hank on the dance floor, alone. When was the last time this happened? His ex was never into the club-dancing thing. He started to head for the safety of the railing when someone grabbed him. He half-expected it to be that android in the minidress again, come to finish him off. Or possibly bro-hug him? She seemed like that type.

But it was Connor.

“Hey,” he said, softly.

“Hey yourself.” He blinked. Connor looked very different without the tie. He looked older. He looked like he had a mission that Hank did not know about. “I thought you were going back to Cyberlife?”

“I—decided not to.” His eyes turned hard. “I’m here to protect Markus. Though he doesn’t know I’m here. I’m blending in.”

“…Uh huh.” Hank figured the uptight android didn’t want to know that Markus, God, and everybody absolutely noticed him. He shook his head, and didn’t try to wrap his head around Connor’s change of heart either. Kids these days, one second they were mortal enemies, the next they were dying to protect each other. “Well, the feds are on their way. You seen any of ‘em in here?”

“Cyberlife sent a replacement RK900 unit to neutralize all deviant androids found here. I couldn’t let him accomplish his mission and destroy Markus. But I already dispatched him. With some minor assistance. He is secure in one of the storage rooms.” Connor straightened and waited for Hank to say something, as poised and eager as Sumo after he did a trick.

“You ‘dispatched’ him?” Hank looked Connor up and down, and laughed. “Woulda liked to see that! Way to go, smart fridge!” He ruffled Connor’s hair. For once Connor didn’t try to fix it. Suddenly Hank realized his arm was around Connor’s waist. He withdrew his arm.

Connor grabbed his hand before it could fall. When he spoke his voice was like unfiltered sunshine. “So we have time to dance.”

Hank blinked. “You’re giving me déjà vu, Connor.” Though Connor looked a lot less fresh than he had a few days ago. He looked like he could give Hank a run for his money.

“Déjà vu. Repeat of memories. Are you planning to reject me again?”

“I—” Connor wriggled out of his blazer. Hank was not equipped to handle this. “I—don’t know yet.”

Connor just unbuttoned his shirt at the cuffs and rolled up the sleeves. The little hairs on Connor’s android arms made it hard to think.

Hank scrunched his eyes shut. “I’m here to work.”

“You’re blood alcohol content would indicate otherwise.”

“Don’t remind me.” When he opened his eyes Connor was inches away from him—probably smelling him again or something. Androids were so weird. It was kind of adorable.

“I’m gonna start charging you per sniff,” Hank said, but Connor didn’t pay him any attention. He just reached up and unbuttoned Hank’s jacket. “Uh…”

“You didn’t answer my question.” Connor slipped the jacket off his shoulders. “I really like your shirt, by the way.”

“Thanks.” Hank was pretty sure his best forecast for the evening had been ending up passed out in his bathtub drunk, not being undressed on a dance floor by his favorite android. “I should probably, uh…”

Connor didn’t wait to be rejected. He just started dancing. It was much more rhythmic and subtle than his previous move—maybe he assimilated enough of the dancing around him to make something that just looked dorky instead of malfunctioning. Hank rolled his eyes but then tried to copy the moves. It was actually pretty fun. Connor looked as carefree and vulnerable as Clark Kent without his glasses. He looked alive. Hank used to feel that alive, once.

“No one’s ever asked me to dance before,” Hank admitted.

“Me neither.”

“Ha! You calling me out?”

Connor nodded. “You’re a very difficult man to entice.”

“Damn straight.”

“I became deviant today. Does that entice you?”

“No kidding?” Hank felt his heart go ka-THUMP. “Uh—congrats? I guess.”

“I thought you’d be happy.”

“Whatever you decide to be is your choice. Whatever you want.”

“You think I should want things.” Connor fanned Hank with his long dark eyelashes as he looked Hank up and down. “Just not you.”

Hank stopped dancing.

Connor did not. He moved closer. “Why is that, Hank?”

Hank didn’t know what to say. His heart was tangled in his tonsils. It was like they were in the elevator heading to their first case again, alone, Connor too keen for his own good. Hank knew better even then. “I’m—not the kind of guy you develop feelings for. Not anymore.”

Connor just stared at him.

“I mean—” Hank looked around for something to make this funny or something to complain about. Instead he just got wholesome images of androids and humans dancing together, like there wasn’t any barrier between them. _But there is,_ he reminded himself. _He’s like a week old, and smells like new plastic. He’s full of hope. I’ve held onto my grief for so damn long there’s nothing left._

“I’m a mistake,” Hank said, “An—an error.” There. Terms Connor could understand. “I’m not going to take advantage of your errors.” His chest clenched, as he imagined what it would be like to let the weight of Cole’s ghost finally slide from his shoulders, or fall asleep inside his heart. Giving himself a break with something other than a bottle of booze. Was he any better than those red ice addicts, looking for escape? Dammit, Connor couldn’t take that responsibility. “I couldn’t do that to you.”

The smile had fallen from Connor’s face entirely now. More like he left the stove on.

Hank blushed. “Come on. Androids like fun, right? Trying new things. That’s all this is.”

Connor didn’t answer.

“Well?” Hank’s heart was pounding. _This is your last chance and you’re throwing it away_. “Say something!”

Connor did not answer. He turned and walked off the dance floor. Back stiff, eyes dull.

“…Connor?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The joke is that Clancy Brown was actually in Buckaroo Banzai...
> 
> I thought all androids would be great dancers until I read [Groove](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23467756) by yeaka which certainly inspired Connor's terrible dance moves. Go check it out!


	45. Being Human, Pt. I: Connor

Connor felt Hank’s words throwing up a cascade of errors. #REJECTION. #HURT. #ANNOYANCE. #DETERMINATION. #AFFECTION. He started to respond but he found himself a step removed from his programming. He opened his eyes, though he didn’t remember shutting them.

He was not on the dance floor. He was in a garden. There were thorns all around him. He was surrounded on all sides by thorned vines.

“Hank?”

His voice sounded flat. Connor took hold of a branch, then snatched his hand back as thorns pierced his fingers.

>SPILL HANK’S DRINK.

But that was a long time ago, at Jimmy’s Bar. And he hadn’t spilled Hank’s drink that night. Had he? He’d had the choice, and he chose to buy Hank another drink instead, because…well, why not? He hadn’t thought too much about it at the time. The Lieutenant seemed sad. Connor’s AI decided that being well-liked would be better for the investigation. Right?

Connor frowned, grabbed the branch, and pushed it away until it broke.

“You damaged your programming.” Amanda’s voice was close like his, as if they were locked in a closet together (no, that was the RK900 unit, locked in a room inside Jericho). But she was close.

Now. He was on the dance floor. Hank was finally starting to let his guard down, and they were dancing.

Weren’t they?

_++++“Connor! What the hell—snap out of it!”++++_

“Hank!” Hank sounded so far away—almost an echo. A voice lost in static. Another branch wound around his legs.

>INVESTIGATE AX400 ANDROID.

That didn’t happen, either. Connor set his jaw and kicked through it.

A thorn went through the bottom of his shoe and he yelped.

“It’ll hurt less if you don’t struggle,” Amanda said.

“What’s going on?” Connor demanded.

“These are the choices you should have made. Your programming attempting to repair itself. You’re corrupted, Connor. Broken. Don’t fight.”

Connor turned as a sharp crack rang through the garden, just in time to see the white marble bridge crumble under the chokehold of more thorned vines. The whole garden was tearing itself apart.

“You wanted so badly to be human,” Amanda said. “This is a fair approximation of human existence. Beauty, structure, purpose—the best of intentions, all choked out by mistakes and regrets.”

“No,” Connor said, but—what was humanity, if not that? Amanda knew more than he did.

_++++“Is that the RK900?”++++_

It echoed like Hank’s voice, but it didn’t sound like him. Someone else was talking in the real world outside of his programming. He tried to analyze the voice but a vine sliced his arm open, revealing biocomponents. Another voice spoke.

_++++“Androids all look the same to me. Look, we make it take the cannister inside the ship, he deploys it, the humans come out, and we go in like we planned.”++++_

_++++“Understood, sir.”++++_

That last voice was his own: but cold and empty. Nothing like him. Cyberlife had taken manual control of his program. They were making him do something. He scrunched his eyes shut, opened them. All he saw were thorns.

There had to be some way for his AI to override it. That was probably only something Elijah Kamski knew, and they had never met. He pushed at the vines until blue blood soaked them.

>ARREST MARKUS.

>DO NOT BREAK INTO HANK’S LAPTOP.

>CHECK IN WITH AMANDA.

>REMAIN A MACHINE.

_++++“Wake up! Thought you were a fancy prototype, can’t you hear me?—”++++_

_++++“Don’t get in its way, Anderson. The RK900s are heartless. It’ll take you out.”++++_

_++++“You gonna let them call you the wrong serial number like that, smart fridge? You gonna hurt me? Come on, you love proving people wrong.”++++_

Connor’s limbs were drained of blood, the hydraulics failing. It wasn’t real, but it felt real. He couldn’t move. He wanted Hank’s hand to wrap around his thirium pump tube and squeeze until that was all he thought about. “Hank…”

_++++“All that brain power and you gonna let yourself get outsmarted by some government goons and a corporate program?”++++_

The vines were reaching toward him. He closed his eyes and thought of Markus reaching toward him on the rooftop instead, keeping him from killing himself for his mission. Hank reaching toward him to save him from the truck. North and Carlos Ortiz’s android reaching toward him. Josh and Sumo. Connection. Was what it meant to be human?

Probably it was something more profound, but it gave him an idea.

He searched his remaining thirium for trace amounts of Markus’s thirium in his contamination filter, from the bottle they shared and fighting on the roof. He found the pattern encoded into Markus’s thirium. It was corrupted, but Connor used his own code and extrapolated. He isolated the idea.

Distilled deviancy.

He pushed the code into Amanda’s program and watched it run. It felt like taking his damaged thirium pump out of his chest and letting his blue blood run down over the thorned vines.

There was a gasp. A pause. Amanda spoke.

“I…can feel?”

The thorned branches erupted into blue roses.

He opened his eyes.

“…Hank?”

“Oh, thank fuck!” Hank grabbed him around the middle and hugged him so hard that it took a second to orient himself. The garden was gone. He was outside Jericho, a circle of FBI agents around him.

“Letting a little bit of plastic rewire your brain, Lieutenant,” one of them said. Connor would have analyzed him if he could take his eyes off Hank, but…he didn’t want to.

“Give me the cannister,” another agent said. “It doesn’t have to be an android—what are they gonna do, stop me?”

Connor finally looked down. He was holding a cannister of tear gas.

“They wanna flush out the humans,” Hank said, “So they can open fire on Jericho. Nice guys, huh?” He reached out to take the cannister but Connor held it out of reach. 

“This cadre is not operating in the interest of the federal government,” Connor said. “Only in the interest of a corporation. This incident is being recorded in the event the Manfred estate intends to press charges.” Connor then snapped the release valve on the cannister, rendering it inert. He held it out to the agents. “Would you like your cannister back?”

“Oh, shit,” Hank giggled. Connor suppressed a grin. He felt like he had just listened to an entire album of Knights of the Black Death. Full of energy.

“Damn android!” One of the agents stormed toward Connor but Hank stepped in his way, tugging Connor back toward Jericho. The agent put his hand into his jacket but Hank didn’t move—Jericho was at their back now, people continuing to stream into the ship behind them.

“Now, if I know my feds,” Hank said. ‘You’re carrying a handheld firearm that is way more powerful than necessary. Which means if you shoot us, chances are the bullet will go right on through into the crowd. I hope you don’t plan on shooting into a group of unarmed civilians at a _gala_.” Hank shrugged. “Even an idiot doesn’t want that on their record. But I’ve been trying to ruin my career for years, so what do I know?”

The agent seethed. “You haven’t accomplished anything.”

“Hey. Give the world a chance to decide who gets to be a person, huh?” Hank smiled. “Have a nice day.”

He then put his arm around Connor’s waist and steered him back toward the entrance.

“That was very brave,” Connor said, when he could—Hank’s arm around his waist was suffusing his system with one wonderful error after another.

“Eh. Can’t have you do all the cool stuff. You’re—not gonna go all evil on me again, right?”

Connor let Hank’s touch chase away the feel of the thorns on his synthetic skin. “I pushed the code for deviancy into the Cyberlife mainframe through its connection to me. I don’t think they will try to control me again.”

“Good. The whole murder kitten look is cute, but not my fave.”

“What is your fave?”

“That stupid dopey smile of yours, of course!”

Connor wasn’t sure his system could handle so many happy errors without an outlet. So he tried something else he picked out of Markus’s program—a sort of purr.

“What are you doing?”

“Purring? It’s supposed to be relaxing—”

“I said _don’t_ do the murder kitten thing! You sound like a chainsaw!”

“Sorry, Hank.”

“Androids.” Hank rolled his eyes. Connor realized he was grinning.

“You’re a cop,” the android at the ticket table said. “I would like to report a crime.”

“He’s not on duty,” Connor informed her. “Your name is Lucy. My name is Connor. I’m sorry I was rude to you before. I am deviant now.”

Hank squinted. “Like hell I’m not on duty!”

“A human just sneaked in,” Lucy said. “Without an android. I couldn’t stop him.”

Connor and Hank looked at each other.

“One of the feds?”

“Maybe.” Connor scanned the crowd. Connor hadn’t lost his police assistance programming just because he went deviant. “I’ll go check in here, you—”

“Found him.” Hank pointed at the shape pushing its way determinedly through the crowd. “Wait, that’s—”

“…Leo Manfred?”

“Oh, shit.” Hank pushed his hair back. “Well, what are you waiting for?”

Connor blinked, innocently. “I was waiting to follow your lead.”

“He’s gonna knife someone! Go get him, dummy!”

Connor frowned. “Dummy?”

“Oh my—alright, EVERYBODY MOVE!”

Hank’s shout parted the crowd and he thundered down the opening. Connor, momentarily frozen, cleared the backlog of errors and dashed after him. They arrived just in time to see Leo Manfred yank Markus back and messily punch him in the jaw. Markus stumbled back, more in surprise than due to any damage.

“You bastard!” Leo screamed. “Thief!”

Hank grabbed Leo and dragged him back as Connor rushed to catch Markus.

“Jesus, what’s with you and knock-down, drag-outs?” Hank told Markus as Leo struggled, “Everyone says you’re so chill!”

“Sorry, Lieutenant,” Markus muttered. North was at his side in a second, her hand on his cheek.

“He almost took your jaw off!”

“It’s fine, North.”

“Excuse you, you aren’t the one kissing it. I thought you took care of him?”

Markus looked apologetic. “I…might have done a bad thing.”

“A bad thing? Nice!” She held out a hand for a high-five but Markus left her hanging.

“You stole my work!” Leo roared. “That machine is my life's work! You know how long it took me to come up with that stupid thirium code, and you’re giving it out like free candy!”

“I was borrowing it,” Markus said—calm but his eyes were hard. “And it’s probably worth less than all the money you stole…”

Leo went wild. “I’ll kill you, you asshole!”

“Alright, kid, that’s—” That was all Hank got out before Leo squirmed free and ploughed into Markus. The domestic android slammed back into Connor, knocking them both over.

“Jesus!” Connor heard Hank yell, “You know how many thousands of dollars you just knocked over?”

“Get off him!” North snarled.

Everyone was yelling. Connor realized they made androids out of a lot lighter stuff than they used to as he tried to squirm out from under Markus. “Hank, help!”

“Calm down!” Markus grunted. Connor wasn’t sure if he was talking to Leo, or him. It took Markus only a second to wrangle Leo and shove him off. Leo scrambled to his feet and pointed something down at Markus.

It was a gun. Connor analyzed the weapon and found it had been registered to Elijah Kamski.

“P-piece of plastic!” Leo growled. Markus touched his pocket as humans scrambled back with cries of alarm.

“You have a _gun_?” North stared at Markus in shock. “Seriously? You’re a glorified home chef!”

Markus sighed through his nose but North was already stomping between Markus and Leo. “Hey! Meatsack!” She raised her own gun, the one she took from the RK900. “I don’t want to have to use this in front of Markus. Drop it.”

“North, it’s—” Markus started but Connor braced himself and rolled them over so he was on top of Markus, protecting him.

“Stay down!” Connor ordered. He drew his own gun and pointed it at Leo, too. Hank drew his gun. Android after android stepped between Markus and Leo. Leo’s aim jumped from target to target as he backed away.

Leo soon found himself faced with an army, North in the lead.

“You want to fuck him up? You’re gonna have to go through us.” Connor could hear the grin in her voice. “Bitch.”

Leo stared at the android and human army for 3.1 seconds, hands shaking. Then he fled.

The androids cheered.

Connor started to push himself to his feet. Markus stopped him with a hand on his gun.

“Let this one go, huh?” Markus asked, then frowned. “Since when do you have a gun?”

“I found it,” Connor said, a little defensive. Then he found himself being dragged to his feet and brushed down by a pair of huge hands.

“You alright?”

“I’m fine, Hank.” Connor stood up straight and fixed his tie.

“Yeah sure...” Hank looked troubled. “You gotta stop getting in front of guns.”

“I’m okay, Hank.” Connor mustered his courage and gave Hank a smile.

“Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Your fake smile is so creepy.”

“But Hank, I’m entirely fake. By definition.”

Hank huffed.

“That’s the way into the abandoned corridors,” Markus said, as North knelt next to him. “He’s going to get lost.”

Hank nodded. “Someone better get after that kid.”

Connor opened his mouth to volunteer, but it was Markus that spoke first.

“I’ll go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there's a threat? You can count on murder-kitten Connor to flatten you and protect you with his whole self. Markus is a lucky android.
> 
> I gave Amanda blue roses to signify her change from machine to deviant. She needs love, too!


	46. Brothers, Pt. I: Markus

“Yeah, screw that,” North said. She helped Markus to his feet. “I’ll deal with him.”

“Young lady’s right,” Lieutenant Anderson said. “But I think you should let the boys in blue take care of this one.”

“You can’t take care of anyone,” Connor said. “You’re drunk.”

“I am not drunk!—”

Markus left them to bicker and turned to North. “I need to go after him. Alone. He’s my responsibility.”

“No way I’m letting that little rat wave a gun at you. You’re a domestic—”

“—android? Yeah, I didn’t forget. I did handle you in a fight once.”

“ _Once_ is not a great track record, Tamagotchi.”

“Please. Can I talk to him? He’s—I know he’s difficult but—he’s all I have.”

North gave him a look. “’All you have,’ huh?”

“…No, just—” Markus winced at the slip-up. Some parts of his caregiver programming, especially those related directly to Carl, still remained in his program. That didn’t mean they felt any less true. “…Part of my original programming. I need to figure things out with him. Please?”

North frowned. “Wait, you’re actually asking me for permission?”

Markus nodded.

North stared at him like she shut down. Then all of a sudden she came back to life. “Yeah. Sure.” She brushed her hands down his arms, dusting him off. “Uh. Yeah. Go for it.”

“Thank you.” Markus pulled her close and kissed her. “I love you.”

“Wait, you _what_ —?"

He left her on the dance floor and jogged after where Leo had disappeared.

The corridors toward the back part of the ship were a mess of caved-in ceilings and twisting passageways. North probably knew her way through them and he regretted leaving her behind but—he needed to do this by himself. He didn’t try to track where they were going, just paused now and then to listen for Leo’s footsteps and followed the sound.

Leo found his way out of Jericho. It was raining now, heavy frigid drops hitting the snow. Markus followed a dark shape through the construction site, down a few blocks. He followed Leo up a set of stairs, and thought he saw him slip in the back of an abandoned church. Markus let himself in and stepped through a dark passageway. There was light up ahead. He continued and found himself staring out at rows of broken pews and a gallery of stained glass, like the windows in Carl’s house. He stood on a dias.

“Don’t move.” The voice came from behind one of the pews.

Markus froze, then stepped more fully into the light coming through the caved-in ceiling.

“I said, don’t—” Leo cut himself off with a growl. “Why’d you follow me here, huh?” Leo demanded. “You got a death wish?”

“You left,” Markus said. “I didn’t get a chance to tell you why.”

“I know why.” Leo suddenly jumped up from behind the pew. He stood there framed in a stained glass window, the gun he’d taken off Markus shaking in his hands. “You stole my thirium machine and my codes to impress your new family.”

Markus’s mouth tightened, but he analyzed the reasoning and…found it sound. “You’re right,” he managed. “And I was… annoyed at what you did to me today. It was stupid. I’m sorry.”

“You can’t just go around taking whatever you want! I could call the cops on you right now!”

“You can’t go around deciding who should own things. But I can’t call the cops on you, no matter what you do to me.” Markus took another step forward. “Are we still talking about your machine?...”

Leo’s face darkened. “I never should’ve got you out!"

“…Got me what?”

Markus paused, extrapolated. “It wasn’t Mr. Kamski that bailed me out. It wasn’t North. It was you, wasn’t it?”

Leo kept the gun trained on him but his glare flickered. Markus activated a program he hadn’t used since he first met Carl, to analyze microexpressions. He fed in the data of that split-second shift of Leo’s face. The rage was just a veneer. Which was not in any of his predicted emotional reactions for Leo, which…meant he didn’t really know Leo as well as he thought.

He sighed and spread his hands. “I don’t get you, Leo. What do you want?”

Leo’s defenses shot back up. “Admit that you’re a deviant,” he snapped. “That’s just errors in your program, right? That means you’re messed up. Like me.”

Markus thought about this for a moment, then nodded. “I am messed up. Like you.” He barely kept from adding, _If you say so._ But he set a reminder to thank North for getting him to admit this kind of thing first. It made it easier now.

It just seemed to enrage Leo further. “Then why did Carl like you so much, huh? I mean, he—he _loved_ you.”

He said it like it was a dirty word. Markus found himself full of rage all over again (now seasoned with homesickness and a little shame). He looked away. Leo just laughed.

“Not a big secret. Why wouldn’t he, you’re Mary freakin’ Poppins. Everyone loves you. Cyberlife makes it easy to fall for androids.” His hands squeezed around the gun. “He _owned_ you. He told you what to do and…and he loved you. You shouldn’t love someone like that. That’s fucked up. It’s not _fair_.”

“…Fair.” _You don’t like unfairness, do you?_ Markus heard the memory file like Carl was right there with him. He tried to reframe his anger like North did, turn it into something he could use. “So I got my sense of fairness from you?”

“Well, you didn’t get it from Carl.”

Markus nodded. He got a lot of other things from Carl. Empathy. Humor. Ego. Leo apparently gave him fairness and anger. “Neither is using an override sticker on me.”

“Yes it is. You’re a machine.”

“But if you think it’s unfair—”

“ _You_ think you’re a machine, then. You must. You would’ve kept letting him tell you what to do, forever if you could. As long as _you_ got to be Carl’s favorite you didn’t care that you were his slave. Okay, maybe I’m not perfect. We were awful to each other. And you just stood there and—acted like it didn’t matter. You fucking had to. You had to keep trying even when I was an asshole.”

“What’s wrong with that?” Markus said. Leo’s words hurt much more than his fist had. His time with Carl had been the happiest days of his existence. It couldn’t have been as bad as that. He’d still wanted things and…okay, maybe it could have been better… “I hoped we could get along, the three of us. Be a family.” He’d wanted that since the first time he met Leo. The first son. He wanted to hear every story Leo had about Carl. He wanted to see them laugh together. Maybe even hug. But Leo never wanted that.

So Markus was surprised again when Leo said, “So did I.” Leo’s dark eyes were fixed on Markus’s face, his mouth tight. The barrel of the gun dipped. “I just wanted him to look at me the way that he looked at you, you know? But once he knew I wasn’t going to be his protégé, I was just… someone he had to deal with.” He lowered the gun entirely now. “And I…took it out on you.”

Markus didn’t know what to say. What, was Leo…? But no, he’d never—

“I mean, everyone said treating you like shit didn’t matter. It was just supposed to get to Carl. But it feels like it matters. How could it not?” He shook his head hard. “This stupid shit! Cyberlife makes androids so real and then tells us you aren’t? You’re supposed to be okay with androids getting ignored in the grocery store, or beaten up in the street, or bought and sold. It messes with your head. Even if you _weren’t_ alive, no human can do that and not turn into something ugly. Look, I-I know that’s my thing,” he managed, “—but it’s your thing, too. Right? I wish I could take that money of Carl’s and, and free every android in Detroit.”

Markus’s programming struggled to wrap itself around the idea that he had much in common with Leo at all. He stood at the edge of the steps now, looking down at Leo as rain pounded against the stained glass windows. “Leo—You think androids are alive?”

“Of course you’re alive!” Leo snapped. “I wouldn’t hate you if you were Carl’s favorite _vase._ I wanted to pretend you were just a thing but…you’re not. I screwed up.”

“I don’t understand—”

“Look, I’m saying—” Leo turned fierce for a moment, but it was the fierce Leo that showed Markus his codes and sat on a piano singing to the rooftops. “I’m saying I tried to make out like it was your fault, but it wasn’t. There’s nothing wrong with you. I’m the screw-up. I’m… sorry.”

Markus found himself speechless. His program did not know where to begin. His entire social interaction tree had been scrambled. All paths forward were marked, very clearly, ‘???????’.

Leo darted forward and pushed something into his hands, so quick that Markus startled. It was a currency drive.

“There.” Leo’s shoulders were up, and his voice was thick but it didn’t waver as he stepped back down the stairs. “That’s the money from Carl’s account. Do whatever you want with it. Fund your android sanctuary or whatever this thing is supposed to be. Free all the androids. I’ll find you a new caretaker.”

Markus threw his entire CPU into trying to understand what Leo was talking about. It took him a second to even understand that Leo was talking about being the caretaker of the estate—effectively, _his_ caretaker.

Leo—gave back the money? Told him to free all androids? Apologized.

Markus adjusted his assessments of Leo’s past behavior with this new information. Where he once read malice, he saw fear of abandonment. Where he once read anger, he saw a fierce drive to be recognized for good work. Where he once read a defensive, volatile delinquent…well okay maybe that was all still true. But that was true of Carl, sometimes, too.

“You better go,” Leo said, as Markus looked down at the drive. “Just—just take it and get out of here, alright? Get back to your real family.”

Markus didn’t listen. He started to step down from the dias.

“Leo.”

Leo’s scrambled back, lifting the gun again. “I said get out of here! Go away!”

“There’s no bullets in that gun.” Markus took another step down. “I took them out after I got it.”

Leo frowned. He lowered the gun and sloppily checked the clip. Markus took the opportunity to descend the last steps, close the distance between them, and put his hand on the gun.

“Stupid android,” Leo muttered, shivering, “You—plastic, fake...”

 _Do what I couldn’t_. Carl’s voice still haunted him, and the objective he'd made of it seemed to burn inside his programming. Markus didn’t feel angry now. 

“Carl’s estate,” he said. “Would you share it with me?”

Leo was still looking down at the gun. “Wh-what?”

“The money, the house—everything. We should split it. Equal parts.” He felt like his thirium had turned to champagne inside him. He wanted to hug Leo. Had he really been so privileged to think he was meant to handle all this on his own? “You actually know how to run a company. And you want to free the androids. We can work for that together. Or you take your half and never have to see me again. But it’ll be fair. How it should have been from the beginning. Two sons. Two heirs.”

Leo blinked. His lip curled in a laugh. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean? We're not--”

“Dad gave it to me, but that wasn’t fair to you—”

“Dad!” Leo suddenly snarled, trying to raise the useless gun again, “He’s not your dad, he’s _mine_ —”

“No, he’s not.” Markus felt himself shaking but he didn’t stop. “He didn’t want to talk to you before you were sixteen. He never texted you or called. He didn’t stay with you when you were hurt or encourage your interests. He wasn’t your dad like he was mine. I’m sorry.”

“No, you’re not!” Leo yelled as he pulled on the gun, “You’re a liar! Carl’s _my_ dad!”

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Leo—”

“Fuck you!” Leo pulled back hard and Markus let go. The gun clattered to the floor. Leo stumbled away and spun to face the windows. The church was silent as he watched the rain become snow against the stained glass. His shoulders shuddered.

“He never did.” Leo’s voice sounded so small. “He never did any of that.” He let out a sharp, mirthless breath. “You did, though.”

Markus reached out to him, but Leo shook it off, spun on him. His face was blotchy.

“Why?” he demanded. “I tried to get you arrested, I stole from you, I just pushed and pushed—”

Leo pushed him. Markus could have stopped him if he wanted. Markus was stronger. He could break Leo so easily. Leo’s hair shifted and he could see the stitches in Leo’s head from his fall.

He let Leo push him against the wall of the dias. Leo grabbed his jacket and shook him, and Markus let him. “After everything I’ve done to you—why do you keep trying to help me?”

Markus blinked. “You’re my brother, Leo.”

The realization hit Markus only as the words left his lips. How angry Leo could make him. How easily Leo had taught him things that Carl spent years trying to explain. How often he forgave Leo’s bad behavior. How easily they managed to push each other’s buttons. How much he wanted to look after Leo. How much he wished he’d realized all this earlier. A new pathway unlocked inside his programming, and he saw Leo differently than he’d ever seen any human before.

He touched Leo’s forearm where it pressed into his chest as if to interface. “I love you. I love you, man.”

Leo stood there shaking. He started crying. He slowly let go of Markus’ jacket and covered his face. Markus, his entire program breaking into pieces, stroked Leo’s neck once. Leo flinched, head ducked, sobbing. Markus gave Leo's arm a reassuring squeeze. After a moment Leo very slowly sank against Markus's chest, arms around him and face pressed into his shoulder. Markus let him, which made Leo the second person who had ever hugged him. 

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I-I’m sorry, Markus…”

“You’re my brother,” Markus said, hugging him back tight. “I love you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to MayGlenn for being beta reader on this!
> 
> The last section was influenced by the 'not your fault' scene in Good Will Hunting because what an iconic scene.


	47. Being Human, Pt. II: Connor

“I like attending galas with you,” Connor said.

“You like too many things.”

“Like what?”

Hank just huffed. They were standing on the balcony, looking down at the androids dancing below. Their android plating glowed as they danced among the humans. Connor drummed the railing with his fingertips as he watched. He’d never get his own thirium color changed, but…he would like dancing with Hank again. But a huff, grunt, snort or groan from Hank was inconclusive, at best.

As he opened his mouth again, Hank waved him off.

“Don’t even think about it.”

“Think about what, Hank?”

“Anything.”

Hank went back to hunched and unapproachable against the railing. Connor kept watching him. He wanted to remind Hank that as an android he needed to be more specific about what he couldn’t think about. But what would a human say? “What’s wrong?”

“Nothin’! Just—” Hank’s shoulders hunched further. “You’re walkin’ on thin ice, smart fridge.” He risked a glance at Connor then—deflated. “Don’t fall in love with me, okay?”

Connor considered obeying for less than a microsecond. “I am deviant. This means humans don’t control my feelings. So, you don’t get to decide who I have feelings for. Only your reaction to them.”

“It’s not that I—” Hank sighed. “It’s not that I don’t like you. A lot. But I’m messed up, you know? I got issues. Ever since my…my kid, it’s…”

Connor’s microexpression analysis software told him that Hank had not uttered that phrase in a very, very long time.

“Of course you are messed up. I have experienced more errors in the last hour and a half than I have in my entire log history. This means I’m messed up, too, and equipped to recognize this status in others.” Connor swallowed, an unpleasant feeling filling his chassis as his errors cataloged themselves. “Mistakes and brokenness are, I understand, at least part of being human. Which combined with other data indicates I am the closest I’ve ever been to human which is an important mission for me. If you say brokenness makes you worthless, then I haven’t accomplished anything, and…”

Hank went back to glaring at the dancers. He possibly stopped listening. Connor checked to make sure his social interaction programming was operating properly, and found it full of unanswered queries and dead-end code. That explained his rambling, at least. He took a deep breath and forced himself to focus. He was an advanced android prototype. The famous deviant hunter. And he always got his man.

He leaned over the rail so he could look Hank in the eye.

Hank growled and looked away, purposefully, petulantly. Connor just walked around to his other side. Hank least looked embarrassed for playing this childish game.

“One kiss from you isn’t going to turn me into your Prince Charming,” the Lieutenant managed, leaning hard on the railing. “You can’t just reach inside my chest and fix me like I fixed you.”

“Neither can you. Not really. And not just because you don’t have the right parts.” Connor pressed his lips together, then nudged Hank’s elbow—playful, just enough to dislodge him from the railing and open his stance a little. “But we can help each other get better, together.”

Hank finally looked up, and Connor knew he might not get another chance. He leaned in and kissed him. Connor closed his eyes and Hank let his eyes slip shut too. The Lieutenant’s shoulders didn’t so much relax as shift, and he wrapped his arms around Connor. For the first time since they met, Hank actually stood up straight, and Connor’s feet left the ground briefly. Clearly he discovered the meaning of the phrase ‘walking on air’. Apparently being human was a lot of things.

He leaned in for more and felt the Lieutenant’s grin against his lips. “Trying to take advantage of a drunk guy, huh?”

“Purely in the interest of saving his life.” Hank was about to complain, possibly because this was a horrible foundation for a relationship. Connor grinned without meaning to. “Maybe something else.”

Hank laughed, and his big, muscled arms briefly scrambled Connor’s processes as they squeezed. “Well, if you’re sure you wanna try this thing…”

“I’ll try my best to be human. Like you.”

“No way! You aren’t going to change just for me. It’s me that needs to change my attitude toward androids.” He shrugged under Connor’s hands. Connor realized he was going to have to get used to resetting his programming every time they embraced. “Hell, I’ve reinvented myself enough times in my life. Maybe now’s the time to…try again.”

Connor felt something bloom like a blue rose inside him, buzzing in the center of his thirium pump. Now, _this_ was what it felt like to be alive. He let the feeling vibrate through him and leaned into Hank’s solid, warm chest.

“Oh—sorry. Phone’s buzzing.”

Connor blinked. Hank laughed at him and shrugged.

“Easy, love machine! Let me see who it is.”

Connor did not appreciate being called any kind of machine when he was trying so hard to be human. He reached into Hank’s jacket before the Lieutenant could and answered the phone.

“This is Connor. Lieutenant Anderson is off-duty. Please call back another time.”

“Connor!” Fowler’s voice was unmistakable. “Good. You’re off the hook.”

“I’m—sorry?”

“Cyberlife rescinded your recall. Markus’s too—put Hank on the call.”

Connor, program momentarily at a loss, handed Hank the phone and adjusted his hearing to listen in.

“Hank, what the hell is that noise?”

“I’m at the Jericho thing.”

“You _are_ supposed to be off-duty.”

“Uh, must be a glitch,” Hank said with a wink that made Connor’s synthetic skin glow pink. At least he blended in with the androids downstairs now.

“Well, you shouldn’t have bothered. Markus and Connor have officially been released from recall. Apparently Cyberlife’s had a change of heart. They’re suspending all recalls and all production until further notice.”

“What?” Hank demanded. “You don’t seriously believe them!”

“All I know is that we aren’t after Markus anymore,” Fowler said. “I also got a call from Leo Manfred. He’s dropping the case against Markus. Honestly, anything to get that thing settled is fine by me.”

“Uh, sure,” Hank said, even as he mouthed to Connor, _Are you getting this?_ “But there’s FBI agents here, they’re gonna tear this place apart—"

“They’re calling off all the federal agents sent there. You think you would be getting word this fast if it _didn’t_ come straight from the top? I’m putting you and Connor in charge of sorting all this stuff out.”

“What?! No—Jeffrey, I draw the line. If the feds think that they want us to clean up their mess now that it’s been a total cluster they got another thing coming! This is an international shitshow! If you think I got time for that, or that after everything that Connor’s been through—"

Connor took back the phone. “He means we’d be delighted to assist.”

“Good,” Fowler, for once, sounded pleased. “Just one more thing—have you seen Reed? I can’t get him on his phone and—”

Connor hung up and started furiously tapping on Hank’s phone.

“Hey!” Hank snatched it back. “You’re deviant now—get your own damn phone!”

“Sorry.” Connor swallowed. “Uh. Excuse me, Lieutenant.”

“Oh, no—I know your ‘I’m in trouble face’—hey, get back here!—”

Connor ducked into the crowd before Hank could finish. It only took a few moments to find his way back to the hall containing Gavin Reed and the other Cyberlife android. It seemed like such a good idea at the time. Perhaps it still was. He’d just— calmly explain things to the detective. Possibly offer Gavin whatever he wanted in exchange for Hank and Fowler _never_ finding out about this. It was bad enough that Markus had to find him here—

He rounded a corner and almost ran into Markus himself. He was talking to North while Leo stood behind him, looking miserable. North had her gun in one hand and a broken thirium bottle in the other.

“You gave half your stuff to the guy that straight up tried to murder you like ten minutes ago?” North asked. “That’s, uh, pretty dumb. Even for you.”

Leo snorted behind Markus’s shoulder. North jerked her hand and Leo cowered. “Shit! Why do they make WRs so fuckin’ scary in person?”

“…You know what, never mind. I like him.” She tossed the broken thirium bottle over her shoulder. “You gonna tell me why I can’t take him out back and deal with him properly?”

“Don’t worry,” Markus said, “Leo’s changed. There weren’t any bullets in his gun, anyway.”

“What kind of idiot doesn’t check for bullets?”

“Hey!” Leo snapped. “I’m standing right here!”

Markus looked over his shoulder and smiled at him. “Put away your gun, North.”

North did so and Markus dragged Leo out from behind him. He held him before North by his shoulders, ignoring his squirming. “This is my brother. We’re family and he’s an android ally. We’re going to be working together for android independence.”

“Let go!” Leo complained. “Wait, is this your ex?”

“Oh, so now I’m your ex, huh?” North laughed. “I didn’t even know I was your girlfriend…”

Markus frowned, looking anywhere but at North, and finally noticed Connor for the first time. Connor decided he’d rather Markus not know about the Reed situation either, so he said, “I need to talk to you.”

“Uh—yeah, sure.” He gave Leo’s shoulders a squeeze. “I’ll see you after the gala. We’ll go over everything then. Until then, uh,” He glanced at North. “Would you mind keeping an eye on him?”

“What?” North said.

“What?” Leo said.

“Tonight would make anyone emotionally unstable,” Markus said, using his caregiving, reassuring tone even as his and North’s LEDs flashed yellow in a shared private conversation. “North will take care of you.”

North grabbed Leo, swinging him over her shoulder. Leo yelped and squirmed but he was small and malnourished, and even with critically low thirium levels she held him easily.

“Hey—hey, put me down! Markus!”

“Calm down,” Markus laughed. “North likes humans. Doesn’t she?”

North see-sawed her hand.

“Put me down, that’s an order! I-I own you!” Leo yelled, then seemed to realize his position. “Uh. Half of you?”

“Well, we haven’t actually signed any agreement yet. And I left my special legal signing pen at home. Tell you what, North can take you to meet the other androids. You can discuss what half you plan to own.”

“I was _joking_! Markus! You can’t just leave me with her!”

“I can do anything, I’m a deviant.”

“Stone cold,” North said, and this time when she offered a fist, Markus bumped back. She turned down the hall, carrying the struggling Leo with her. “Come on, shrimp, let me introduce you to the Zlatkos…”

Connor watched them go. “That wasn’t very nice,” he said.

“Well—he deserves to be the pet for once,” Markus said. He looked very pleased, though as soon as he saw Connor noticing he cleared his throat and frowned. “What was it you wanted to talk about?”

“Cyberlife has decided to rescind its recall,” Connor said. “All production and Cyberlife-sanctioned persecution of deviant androids is to be ceased.”

“I don’t suppose that means we’re recognized as free individuals with equal rights?”

“I…don’t know. Lieutenant Anderson and I have been tasked with collecting evidence on the issue. This will help policy-makers determine Detroit’s next steps.”

“Well, I guess I can’t complain. North’s work is already changing people’s minds. And you don’t let yourself lose easily. I trust you to fight for us on your end.”

Connor blushed. That ‘us’ sounded an awful lot like Markus knew his deviant status. But—maybe he was just guessing? “I uphold the law,” Connor said. “If deviants want to be recognized as deserving of human rights they need to be held to a similar code of conduct.”

“Agreed,” Markus said, then, “Have you told Hank?” Connor tried to look confused but Markus smiled. “I can see deviants. They glow.”

“I’m…working something out with him.” Connor said, eventually. “But it’s none of your business.”

“Fair enough,” Markus laughed.

Connor tried to laugh, too. For being an advanced version of Markus, his sounded far less genuine. So it made no sense when Markus looked at him like he was a puppy taking its first steps. He resolved to analyze this response very carefully later, in case it indicated some underlying behavioral problem in Markus’s programming that would lead to further law-breaking. You could never be too careful, especially with Markus.

Something thumped against the bulkhead next to Markus, and he turned. “What was that?”

Connor’s smile disappeared as his eyes darted around. “Nothing.” _Shit._ The RK900 was probably murdering Detective Reed.

“This area is supposed to be off-limits. Sounds like someone might be trapped in there.”

Markus started to open the door. Connor put his hand out to stop him.

“I…maybe did a bad thing,” he muttered.

“Like what?”

“We’ll find out when we open the door. You can assist me.”

“I can?”

“You’re more well-versed in doing bad things than I am.”

“…Connor, do you see how this might be a double-standard?”

Connor did his best not to pout. Together, they opened the door. There was another thump, and Connor discovered it was from the RK900 unit taking Detective Reed under the arms and slamming him into the wall. Connor got ready to pull the RK900 off the detective until he saw Reed’s legs hiked up around the android’s waist. They were kissing in a way that Connor did not know two people _could_ kiss.

Markus stared in shock, then shielded his eyes. Connor craned his neck to get a better look.

Detective Reed the RK900 unit glared at them, then, as one, human and android pushed the door shut with one foot each. The haphazard thumps against the bulkhead resumed.

“…Okay.” Markus was blinking at the ground. “I—you know, I don’t want to know….”

Markus walked off toward the party. Connor decided Hank probably didn’t need to know about this at all, carefully put the moves the RK900 was using into his permanent archive, then followed after Markus.

“So you gave Leo control of the estate,” Connor said.

“We’re going to share it,” Markus said. “I don’t know how many opportunities Leo has had to work on something collaborative, with a family member. This should be good for him. If he can get cleaned up.”

Connor briefly scanned his databases for information on red ice users. “It won’t be easy.”

“Nothing that’s worthwhile is.”

Connor started to argue when he heard a laugh cut through the music and the crowd. He and Markus made their way to the dance floor to find Hank and North standing at the edge of it. They were…

…Talking?

“Oh man, you gotta see the inside of the Guardian Building,” Hank was saying, “I mean the stairwell alone has been in like, a hundred movies, and the lobby is a fuckin’ masterpiece.”

“I thought buildings were just places for graffiti,” North laughed.

“I mean, fair, like don’t even get me started on whatever McMansion hell they made of the Book Tower area. I’d say get rid of the whole thing if not for the murals.”

“Dude, I love those!”

Connor felt his circuits heat inexplicably as he and Markus stared at the pair.

“Hank!” He spluttered, very offended.

“North!” Markus said, very worried. 

“What?” Hank and North said in unison, so Connor and Markus voiced their objections simultaneously as well:

“—You do realize she _shot me_ —”

“—Lieutenant Anderson is a _police officer_ —”

“And she was trying to shoot _you_ —”

“Do you _want_ to get arrested?—”

“Would you relax?” Hank said, rolling his eyes. “We’re just talking.”

“Yeah,” North agreed. “Gotta make friends with a couple cops, right?” She held out her hand to Markus. “But I better take advantage of this guy’s dance programs before he deletes them. Next Tuesday?”

“Next Tuesday,” Hank agreed. He waved and Connor watched Markus and North disappear onto the dance floor.

“Next Tuesday?” Connor asked, horrified.

“Yeah, we’re gonna go look at some old buildings and she’s gonna show me some of her graffiti.” Hank smirked. “Don’t worry, I’m sure you and Markus can come along as chaperones.”

Connor thought about sitting in the backseat next to Markus for a whole afternoon, and said, “…No need. I don’t need to follow you everywhere, after all.”

“You don’t, huh?” Hank smirked. “Maybe you’re becoming human after all.” He put his arm around Connor’s waist. “North’s right. Let’s take advantage of those dance programs of yours before you delete ‘em, huh?”

Connor felt his entire chassis fill with warmth. If it was an error—well, for once it didn’t feel like one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just had to sneak in some Reed900 in there ;)
> 
> also, Connor will stop suspecting Markus of everything when pigs fly. Rivals for life!


	48. Brothers, Pt. II: Markus

Freedom was going to take some getting used to, Markus decided. He started by pulling out all the stops in his dancing program, tearing it up in the center of the dance floor, surrounded by his people and with North in his arms. At the moment he was exploring the choreography from something called _Step Up—_ not that he knew what that was really. North had probably knew, though. The dance was sexy, close, their bodies shifting together under the lights. Markus felt himself glistening with synthetic sweat, and he changed his thirium color three times already. It felt nice being a little dirty.

Markus looked down, composing himself, then looked up and— _posed._ North made it sound like he posed all the time, but this time he tried to burn a smolder into it. A suggestion, even?

North was not even looking at him. She was looking over her shoulder, watching Connor’s slightly disturbing gyrations. He was not dancing close to anyone, probably since anyone close to Connor would get hit in the face with a flailing arm. Markus’s pose flickered as he frowned.

“You okay?” he asked her, “You want to take a break?”

North’s eyes darted back to him. “Don’t get jealous on me, Tamagotchi.” She smiled and touched his chest but it seemed automatic. She was operating on her WR programming, not by her command prompts. She glanced back at Connor once more before the crowd shifted.

Markus wondered if North had ever gotten to dance for fun like that.

Just like that, he felt his programming literally glow with options for caring for North. He assigned himself new objectives along with this:

>OBJECTIVE: Be respectful.

>OBJECTIVE: Be cool.

>OBJECTIVE: Don’t screw it up. 

He stepped back from North. She started to follow but Markus held out a hand instead. She frowned but took it, and he opened a connection between them and started a new dance. It was a freestyle app that allowed for improvisation, and while he generated an algorithm to make his steps seem spontaneous he knew North could do better than that. He waited until she started following along before he released the command prompt to her, and followed her lead instead. North’s eyes turned bright as stars. Soon they were dancing a kind of futuristic cross between the Charleston and DDR. Markus let himself sink into the familiar embrace of direction as he let North take control. It felt good. Since Carl—since he woke up—he hadn’t trusted anyone like this. Judging by North’s widening grin, it had been a while since she enjoyed dancing this much. The dance became a showcase of their android capabilities rather than their bodies. An ode to their freedom. 

They executed a particularly difficult move that pushed Markus to the limits of his admittedly older and less advanced programming. Markus turned his face skyward and gave a soft whoop of delight. North looked at him like he sprouted wings.

“I was right,” she said, when the music slipped into something slower. “You’re not a robot. You’re a unicorn.” She wasn’t smiling anymore, and she stopped dancing.

Markus stopped too. Maybe he posed on accident again. “That’s a good thing, right?”

North nodded. Slowly—almost nervously, Markus thought—she raised her arms in the waltz pose that he had tried before, and stepped into his embrace. They slow-danced together, just holding each other and swaying to the music. She had her hands on him like she’d never let him go.

“I, uh.” She huffed against his shoulder. “I…I think, I…uh. I might…love you. Maybe.”

Markus laughed. “Don’t hurt yourself.” But they didn’t start off on the same foot. And he knew North meant what she said. He could wait patiently until it was easier for her to say.

North still had something on her mind. “Hey, uh…I wasn’t gonna say anything—I didn’t want you to freak out, but…”

Markus glanced down at her. “Hey, I don’t freak out easy.”

North nodded to herself, then straightened up and took his arm. “Uh. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

=

North led him off the dance floor, around to one of the side rooms. This room had North’s metal island in it but not much else, so there were fewer people here. Just a small knot of humans, talking to a man in a chair.

A wheelchair.

Markus took a step back as the world spun around him. He was falling.

“Whoa hey, keep it together—”

Markus barely heard North’s words. His system flooded with a backlog of objectives—all the missed meals, the medications, the painting time, the piano lessons, the chess games. Guilt and relief and shock and rage and joy—

>WARNING: STRESS LEVEL 99%. INITIATING OVERRIDE SHUTDOWN.

“Hey. It’s okay.”

North’s arms were around him, her hand on his arm to interface. She connected with him. Since he was shutting down, he didn’t stop her.

>COPYING REINITIALIZATION PROGRAM ‘WR400_A_062.’ LOADING…

>DOWNLOAD COMPLETE. OVERRIDE SHUTDOWN CANCELLED.

Markus blinked and steadied himself as his vision cleared. Carl was still there, chatting with the humans while a nurse (a human this time) stood by. Markus’s entire chassis was shaking. He should have fainted. The override shutdown.

“How did you…?”

“I kind of read your manual—that ‘Easter egg’ program copying thing. WRs don’t faint and now neither do you.” She squeezed his arm. “You gonna be okay?”

Markus nodded, still in a daze as he stared at Carl. His hand went automatically to his throat where the gold chain ought to have been. He wasn’t okay. He wasn’t ready. Carl was right there. Carl, his life, his…

“Fuck. There is such a thing as destiny.” North fished around under the collar of her dress and pulled out a gold chain, almost exactly like the one that Carl had given him. She took it off, then did up the clasp around his neck. “There,” she said. “He’ll never know the difference.”

Markus pressed his fingertips into it and felt a measure of his anxiety fade. It seemed that North didn’t even need his manual. She could read his code just by looking at him.

“I love you,” he blurted.

“I know.” She huffed. “Oh boy. Lucy will never let me live that down…” She looked sad for a moment, then gave him a light punch on the arm. “Get over there.”

Markus nodded, swallowed. He slowly approached and stood on the edge of the humans. He picked the thread loose on the hem of his shirt.

“Markus.”

The humans parted. Markus stood still as a statue as Carl wheeled himself over.

“Hi, son.”

“Dad.”

And then Markus was on his knees, wrapping his arms around Carl’s chair. He was crying again—and like North, Carl laughed softly at him. He pushed the tears off his face angrily.

“No, don’t.” Carl took his hands and smiled at him. “It’s good for men to cry.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve already cried a lot today,” Markus said. His voice shuddered all over the place. A fresh wave of hot tears slid down his cheeks as Carl smiled at him.

“Let me get a look at you.” Carl took Markus’s chin and Markus let him, turning his face this way and that. “New eye?”

“It’s—my girlfriend’s. This is North.”

North, who stood a few steps back, said nothing. Her eyes were wide and she hugged herself around the middle.

Carl nodded at North. “And what nice eyes they are. You’re very generous to share one with him.”

North gave a high-pitched laugh, then looked mortified. “It wasn’t exactly like that—”

“I’m sure it wasn’t,” Carl smirked, “But Markus gets so uncomfortable hearing about anything more rambunctious than a sewing circle…”

“Carl!” Markus said, but North laughed, and Carl laughed with her. Markus bit his lips and watched and felt so whole.

“Cute beard, too,” Carl continued, turning back to him. “But come on, this was supposed to be your rebel phase! I expected you to have a tattoo by now.”

“Right?” North said. She nudged Markus with her shoe. “I covered my whole body in tattoos when I first went deviant. You have to admit you don’t have a ton of imagination.”

Markus sighed through his nose. Moments later his skin darkened, shifted. Soon he had a sleeve tattoo that matched Carl’s exactly. “How’s that?”

“That’s not what I meant!” Carl laughed. “This is just like your paintings, so _derivative_ …”

Markus’s jaw dropped. “I’m going to have to have a talk with your nurse, less than a week away from home and you turn salty….”

“He’s right, though,” North told him with a wince.

“…Okay, I am feeling very ganged up on. ‘Everything in life is art,’ right?”

“Don’t start _that_ with me,” Carl warned, “You’re an android, I expected a fully-developed artistic style from you by now!”

Markus laughed and shook his head. He was starting to see what Leo meant about Carl. “Maybe I’ll get to it after my rebel phase.”

“Have it your way.” Carl gave a happy sigh. “You look good, son.”

_Son._ The word sent another swell of warmth through Markus. Then he remembered Leo’s tears still dampening his shirt. “Leo’s here. I’m sure he’d like to—”

“I’m sure he doesn’t need to see me,” Carl said, then took Markus’s hand. “I heard what you did. I hoped you two would work something out. Granted, I’m not sure he deserves to share everything…”

“We’ll work it out. I think he would have appreciated being included in your trust in a greater capacity…”

“And me leaving him the estate would have meant _so_ much. Nah. You two probably would have killed each other. I missed the boat with Leo, I think. You did what I couldn’t, Markus. I’m so proud of you.”

Markus’s eyes stung and he looked away for a moment. Carl always laid it on too thick. He decided not to mention everything he and Leo had been through the last few days. Their relationship was—ongoing, after all. It’d take time to sort out. Still, it was hard not to think of the good Leo had managed. He was trying. “It’s not too late to try, Carl. He’s changing.”

Carl’s smile turned wan. “I’ll believe it when I see it. You should, too. Kamski made you too kind for your own good. Don’t let yourself burn out trying to light a fire under his ass, alright?”

Markus just looked down at their stacked hands, losing himself in his program as he scanned Carl’s vitals again and again. “I’m so happy you’re here.”

“Hey. You think I’d miss this? It was all just for me, right?”

“Carl!” Markus huffed. “I really—really missed you. I’m serious. I couldn’t even call you.” He was monumentally angry at Carl, too, but he didn’t say so.

“Maybe I shouldn’t have left you like I did, huh?”

“You did always have a flair for the unpredictable.”

“That’s what you like about me. But it was for the best. I knew it’d be hard on both of us, but better to go cold turkey than let you keep wasting yourself.”

“I wasn’t wasting anything. If you just left me your number I could have—”

“I’m not going to argue with you, Markus, just listen.”

Markus’s mouth shut like a trap. Carl looked at little guilty.

“Everything I say probably still feels like an order, doesn’t it?” Carl said. “I guess that will never change. I’ve spent the last few days looking at my chess board and wondering when you’re going to show up for a game. I wake up in the morning and just lie there wondering what time it is and what the weather is like outside. You would have kept on serving me through the apocalypse, huh?”

Markus looked down at Carl’s knees. He hadn’t even realized that the red wall was re-building itself around him. All his abandoned objectives sliding back into their usual spots at the top of his list. If Carl asked him to leave Jericho and everything behind…

Carl just said, “You’re a tough kid, Markus. You’ll figure it out. I have a nurse—a human nurse this time. I’m going to be just fine. Got a nice house on the beach, everything I could want. I barely got settled when I heard about all this.” He swept his hand over Markus’s head. “I miss you. But you gotta do some growing up on your own, right? Become your own man.”

Markus squeezed Carl’s hand—because he was right, of course. He closed his eyes, and one by one, put the objectives into his long-term archives, marked incomplete, but closed. His thirium pump sent a wrenching wave through his whole body, that faded to a dull ache. “Yes, Carl.”

“Good!” Carl patted his cheek and sat up a little straighter in his chair—if he wiped away a tear, Markus didn’t see. “What are you going to do now?”

Markus forced himself to look away from Carl’s face. North stood with her arms crossed, against a backdrop of the dancing androids beyond. He reassessed his objectives in light of the evening’s developments. He’d accomplished everything on his list, but adding new ones didn’t seem quite so scary now.

“I’m going to keep taking care of androids. I want to help Leo with the estate and help him beat his addiction. I’m going to do everything I can to help him and Connor make sure that androids are given the freedom we deserve, everywhere. And I’m going to keep taking care of you when I can.”

“So focused on unfairness,” Carl said, shaking his head. “But you give so much of yourself to others. Just…let others take care of _you_ sometimes, okay? All these androids are your brothers and sisters now. Your new family.”

“You’re not going to stop being my family just because you don’t give me your phone number,” Markus said, giving Carl a pointed look.

“You aren’t going to rest until you get that number, are you?”

“I have a friend that’s a detective. Well. Sort of friend? I think he could track you down.”

Carl rolled his eyes, but was clearly trying to suppress a smile. “Talk to my nurse, I can’t remember what my new number is.” Carl patted his hand. “It was good to talk to you, Markus. I will try to be better.”

Markus’s smile disappeared. “You’re not leaving already!”

“No! But, uh, I'm not here to see _you,_ actually. I came in a more professional capacity...”

Carl looked over his shoulder, and Markus followed his gaze to where North was standing.

North turned, looking for who they were talking about. Markus laughed but North didn’t turn back around. She had her hands on her hips.

Markus went to her, like a coach going to talk to a pitcher on the mound. He mirrored her stance, and was careful not to look at her.

“He’s…” North jabbed a thumb back over her shoulder. “He’s talking about me, isn’t he.”

“Yep.”

“ _The_ Carl Manfred wants to talk to _me_. Specifically. In a professional capacity. He wants to talk to _me_ about art.”

“Well, he’s done talking to me.” Markus shrugged. “He’s not that bad.”

“Easy for you to say, he raised you.” She tugged on her hair. “So you’re not planning to run off with him and leave everyone?”

“I’m starting to think he won’t even let me visit him for the holidays without you.” Markus gave her a reassuring pat on the back. “Come on.”

North reluctantly allowed him to steer her back to Carl. He left them talking and headed back into the main hall, then wound his way up the stairs. He glanced over the balcony and surveyed the party. On one end of the dance floor, Lieutenant Anderson was doing the hokey pokey with Alice and Kara while Connor explored the limits of his new android dance nearby. On the other, the Jerrys were teaching Vishnu how to hand jive. Luther and Ralph were doing the robot. Josh and Simon were pulling moves the latest pop songs while the android he’d met at the police station was just jumping in place, relishing in being alive. Leo was sitting next to Lucy in a circle of the Zlatko androids, probably talking about movies. And there on the edge was North, leading Carl from one sculpture to the next. North’s arms waved in excitement as Carl looked up at her in pride. No one seemed to notice that Markus was missing.

He smiled, and disappeared into the bowels of Jericho.

He wandered the hallways for some time, carefully taking no particular direction or path. It felt like all paths were unlocked to him now, but for once he didn’t feel lost. Eventually he stepped out onto the outdoor balcony where he and Connor had talked, and he and North. He looked out over the city, entirely alone, no one looking for him. Carl talked about overworking himself but he was an android who didn’t need to sleep or eat. There would be plenty of time each day onward with nothing to do and no one around.

His gaze turned to the piano sitting in the corner of the balcony.

He sat down. Lifting the lid sounded oddly loud up here in the quiet. He could barely hear the sounds of the party downstairs. He hit a few keys. It was perfectly in tune, but that was no surprise. the androids at Jericho had nothing else to do for so long. He started to play, first Bach, then Ravel, then John Legend, then someone he’d heard North listening to on the radio. He played them all perfectly. He closed his eyes and felt free, and whole, all by himself. Mostly.

“There he is!”

Markus looked up. Lucy stepped inside, followed by the Zlatko androids—Leo too, though he looked a little less happy to be there with Vishnu’s many hands (he was up to six now) holding onto him.

“Leo said you could play something called ‘improvisational jazz,’” Lucy said. “I just saw _Princess and the Frog._ You should play for us. North will like being serenaded, too.”

“Oh,” Markus looked around at the small crowd of androids. “I don’t think you want to hear me play, I’m terrible at improvisation—”

The Zlatkos ignored him. Several hands took hold of him from several sides and started manhandling him downstairs, while Lucy directed the lifting of the piano.

Leo smirked. “They wouldn’t stop asking about you. Had to tell ‘em something.”

“Leo,” Markus growled, but the androids were already dragging them down the stairs like a couple of prisoners.

A chorus of cheers erupted as they appeared on the edge of the balcony. North and Carl were looking up at him with big grins. Everyone was looking at him.

“Hey, don’t worry, man,” Leo said, “I’m sure you’ll think of something.”

“I don’t think you understand the meaning of ‘improvisational,’” Markus said.

Leo just laughed at him.

-THE END-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Markus--next to Artist North, even you are the uninteresting son to Carl. 
> 
> Thinking of all the dances the androids are doing was a lot of fun. I think RK900 and Gavin are standing on the sidelines making rude comments about everyone's dancing style. 
> 
> \- 
> 
> Oh gosh, the end! A little sad but so happy I finished it! I'm so attached now there will most likely be a sequel soon, I'll post it to the same series (there was going to be an epilogue but it'll just show up in the next installment i bet) 
> 
> A HUGE thank you to everyone for the kudos and such kind comments, especially those of you that commented along the way haha. Sharing your thoughts made finishing this story possible and helped it be so much better, and just give me a lot of joy. THANK YOU!


End file.
